


Tom and the Demon

by MelfinaLupin



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Demons, Frottage, M/M, Priest Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-25 23:16:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 54,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelfinaLupin/pseuds/MelfinaLupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father Thomas discovers there is a dark secret buried beneath his church.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_England, 1841_

Cotswold is an insignificant village burrowed quite comfortably in the rolling green hills that surrounds it. It’s not glamorous or pompous but humble and small. The kind of place one does God’s work. I am assigned there as its newest priest, the previous one, Father Norris, having grown too old and infirm to care for his beloved parish any longer. Fresh out of the seminary, I am eager to become acquainted with my new home and when the news of my assignment settles upon my ears I am unable to stop myself from packing.

Unfortunately my zeal for my newest undertaking is somewhat dampened by unavoidable troubles. It takes longer than anticipated to get to the village due to stormy weather that does not abate, and by the time I do reach Cotswold night has fallen so I cannot glimpse its much-admired scenery.

Though I am distraught about having to save my site seeing for another day, I am ready to reach my new home. I am cold, wet, and miserable by the time I alight from the carriage in front small square house that resides in the shadow of a small, simple church. Rain drenches me as I pay the driver, giving him a little extra for his time and care, and quickly gather my small valise. I hurry to the door of the rectory, eager to escape the unpleasant night.

There is a faint light spilling out from the window on lower level of the cottage, I walk up and knock tentatively. I was told there would be a caretaker provided but surely she would not have stayed so late? It was nearing midnight!

The door opens a moment later and a middle-aged woman appears in the threshold. She is plump and dressed modestly. In one hand she holds a candelabra, its flickering light shows her kind face and that her gray hair is tucked neatly under a cap. She stares, completely awestruck.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Ashby,” I say, automatically flashing a friendly smile.

“Oh, Father Hiddleston!” she breathes quickly, her round cheeks flushing. “Do come inside! Such horrid weather we’ve been having. You must be chilled to the bone.”

Before I can say anything she grabs my arm and pulls me inside the tiny entryway.

“Oh you are as wet as a fish,” she comments with a shake of her head. “Give me your things and your coat. I will take care of them.”

“That is not necessary.”

“I insist, Father Hiddleston.”

I chuckle, knowing that I lack the nerve to challenge such stubbornness. I concede and hand over my things. I like her already.The gloom, which had soured my mood the last hours of my trip, vanishes almost instantly. This wonderful woman reminds me so much of my own mother that it fills me with delight.

She clucks in disapproval as I give her my sodden hat and coat, shabby well used things befitting a simple country clergyman.

“Oh but you are a young one” she says in almost a whisper as she looks up at me. There is surprise in her eyes. I can feel myself blushing but I smile once more. Though I pay no heed to outward appearances, I know my youth is evident in my kind, unlined smile. My lengthy golden curls, that are more often than not an utter mess, were usually the topic of many good-natured jests in the seminary.

“I expect the young ladies of the village will be much more eager to attend church this Sunday,” she teases and I can only look down at my feet in embarrassment. “Now the parlor is down the hall on your left. I have a small fire going for you. I hope you are not upset. I wanted you to come to a nice, warm home for your arrival. It’s the least I could do as your housekeeper.”

“You have my thanks.”

“Would you like some tea or brandy to warm you up?”

“Do not trouble yourself, Mrs. Ashby. It’s far too late.”

“Oh, hush now,” she scolds. “I am here to serve you.”

As far as I know this is the only parish that had a housekeeper. I was told she had looked after Father Norris when he had grown old and senile and stayed out of the goodness of her own heart for the benefit of the new, younger one who would have to fill very large shoes. Her company and knowledge of the village will be very valued.

“Tea would be lovely.”

We travel down the hall but when I turn to go left she continues straight, past a staircase, and to what I presume is the kitchen. I am tempted to offer her some help but she would most likely rebuke my assistance. So I make myself at home as much as I can. Like the rest of the house the front parlor is small and Spartan but the fireplace is inviting and warm. I sit before the flames in a large leather recliner that smells heavily of tobacco.

My thoughts eventually settle upon my predecessor and I pray for his wellbeing. Whispered reports of his erratic and strange behavior towards the end of his career had reached my ears in the seminary. However, before his unfortunate illness (no doubt brought about by old age) he had been a beloved priest here for many years. I would have to work hard to gain the villagers’ trust and love but I believe I would feel ready for the challenge after a good night’s rest.

As much as I would have loved to relax after my journey, I am restless with curiosity. It’s not long before I am out of the chair and wandering about the room. It doesn’t take me very long to inspect all of it, since it was small and my legs are long but I admire the charming details nonetheless. Most of Father Norris’ books are still here and I occupy myself with browsing them while I wait for Mrs. Ashby to return.

The tomes are largely of religious and historical subjects and I am pleased with the discovery. I will be able to put them to good use. Upon further inquiry I find a small leather-bound book tucked between the Bible and the wall. It is so unlike the rest that I am oddly intrigued by it. I pull it out to inspect it, wandering what could be held within the pages. To my surprise I find that it is completely hand written and my thoughts once again turn to Mr. Norris. Is this his journal?

I flip through it quickly and discover that it’s written in Latin. One word catches my attention over and over again throughout the battered book. _Daemon_.

I jump when Mrs. Ashby returns with a tea tray in her hands and the book falls to the floor.

“Oh, I’m sorry, love,” she gasped, nearly as frightened as I am. “I hadn’t meant to startle you.”

I smile and replaced the book, embarrassed that the atmosphere and the writings of an old man has unsettled me so.

“It’s my fault,” I return with a small chuckle. “The trip here has left me out of sorts.”

Mrs. Ashby beamed and walks the tray over to the chair, her heavy skirt rustling as she moved. “A cup of tea and a good night’s rest is all you require, Father Hiddleston.” She leaves the tray on a table. To my delight I spy some biscuits beside the teapot, though I am more tired than hungry I’m fairly sure those biscuits won’t see the light of morning.

“Your room is up just up the staircase. I put your bag in there and turned down your bedclothes,” she said. “I will be back in the morning to make breakfast.”

“Oh, no. Please don’t bother. I appreciate all that you have done already but…”

“Nonsense, Father. I am your caretaker and housekeeper,” she insisted. Though she is smiling, her eyes are stubborn. There is no room for me to argue with her. “And you look like you can use a few good meals,” she says as she gives my tall slender form a critical look. “Now I will be back in the morning. I’ll show myself out. Have a good night.”

I sighed, conceding victory and bowed. “Have a good night, Mrs. Ashby. Until tomorrow then.”

The house is disturbingly quiet when the old woman leaves. There is nothing but the crackle of the burning logs and the delicate chime of china to fill the room as I sit down to enjoy a cup of tea. The wonderful drink takes my mind off the bizarre journal and soon exhaustion settles into my bones until the only thing I can think of is sleep. When my cup is empty and the biscuits are gone, I return the tray to the kitchen. In a daze I rinse the dishes clean because I cannot bear the thought of Mrs. Ashby cleaning up after me. After I finish, I stagger up the stairs to my new quarters.

The room is frugal, housing only the basics of a bed, a nightstand, and a wardrobe. There is a basin in the corner for washing. The fireplace is small but bright with a merry little fire to wrestle the chill out of the air. I search my valise for my nightshift and am bemused to find that Mrs. Ashby has gone through the trouble of unpacking my meager possessions. My shift hangs up along with the rest of my clothes in the wardrobe.

I change quickly and settle into bed. It’s narrow and the mattress is bumpy but it is lovely nonetheless. I close my eyes and breathe deeply. Finally warm and comfortable I know it won’t be long until sleep overcomes me. The storm continues to rage and wind begins to sound like howling outside my window.

* * *

 

I awake to bright sunlight coming through my window. Energized from my sleep I roll out of bed immediately and stride towards the small window. I push back the curtains and open it to eagerly survey my surroundings in the pale light. The storm had abated during the dwindling night hours, leaving behind only the refreshing smell of rain on the grass and a fine wispy mist that is trickling throughout the yard. Both the church and my home are removed from the village but I can see hints of it just beyond the gentle swell of the hills and I am anxious to explore it. It’s a breathtaking and beautiful plot of land, a wonderful testament to the Lord’s ingenuity.

When I hear Mrs. Ashby downstairs I put a stop to my reveries and quickly get ready for the day.

Breakfast is a simple affair but is nonetheless delicious. Mrs. Ashby is a marvelous cook. Curious to learn more of the woman. I inquire about her family and learn she is a widow and lives in the village by herself. After her husband had passed and her children grown, now with their own families to tend to, she has spent the last several years looking after Father Norris.

“It’s a shame what happened to him,” she murmurs sadly as she tidies the small kitchen. I had insisted on eating here rather than in the formal dining room. The notion had befuddled her but she agreed.

I stare at her and for a moment stop chewing. My interest is undeniably caught. “If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly happened to him, Mrs. Ashby?” I was not given the details and most of what I have gained came from rumors that I believe to be unfair.”

She stares at me, her face pensive and worried, before she heaves a sigh and walks over to me. “Father Norris was a fine and healthy man,” she starts, with her hand bundled in her apron. “He was a good man. Every villager loved him but about ten years ago something happened. He was ill so very often that he eventually became a recluse. As his body withered away, his mind did too. I feared for him, Father. He was always so confused, so scared, so angry but I had no idea of what. It is better that he left. He is now in the care of people who know how to bring him comfort.”

I sit, stricken. I had not expected the rumors to be true. “Are you telling me he went mad?”

“I am afraid so, Father.”

“I was only told by my superiors that his age had prevented him from preforming his duties.”

“Father Norris is still in his prime,” Mrs. Ashby corrected gently. “However his sickness left his body weak and decrepit as if he were an elderly man. The doctor could not explain it, and was only able to see to his well-being.”

“I am sorry.”

She shook her head, her eyes glistening. “Do not worry. He is in a better place now.” She busied herself once more with fresh vigor as if to keep her mind occupied. “But it is early still. What will you do with your day?”

“I wish to visit the church and possibly the village. I want to become acquainted with my new home as quickly as possible.”

“That’s wonderful,” she murmured with a genuine smile. Her hand slipped into the pocket of her apron, pulling out a set of keys. Both were long and old, almost identical. “You will need these. This one is for the house and the other is for the church.”

I take the heavy keys with a smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Ashby.”

After breakfast I eagerly set out on the cobblestone path that leads from my home to the stone church. It is still early enough that mist lingers in the air. It curls softly around the crumbling tombstones of the overgrown graveyard. The church is an old but small building made of pale gray stone. It’s disturbingly quiet and a feeling of apprehension overtakes me as I unlock the door. I have no reason to be uneasy in the presence of such a humble sanctuary.

The heavy door groans and the hinges shriek in objection as I pull it open. The air inside is stale and startlingly damp. I stare into the vast, cold darkness beyond the door in confusion. It is pitch black inside and I have to prop both doors open to allow enough light in. I stay outside and let my eyes adjust to the gloom, gaping at the abysmal condition the morning light divulges. Dust and cobwebs cover almost every surface. Black shadows linger in the corners. The small stained glass windows are sullied with layers of grime, the colors lost underneath it.

I stand in the doorway, appalled at the neglect. This church has been wholly abandoned.

A knot forms in my stomach when I realize that I have, once again, not been told the entirety of the situation. I prop the doors open to air out the musty hall and return to the rectory to consult with Mrs. Ashby. She is still in the kitchen, baking bread.

She looks up when I enter and grows pale at my expression. I try to remain calm when I demand the reason for the appalling state of the church.

“It’s true, Father,” she finally admits. “It’s been many years since anyone has stepped inside the church. Besides Father Norris no one is willing to go near it.”

“I don’t understand. How can that be?”

"People believe it is haunted."

"The Holy Church disproves the existence of ghosts,” I pointed out, still quite confused.

Mrs. Ashby shrugs. “This is an old village, Father, full of old stories. No one has been inside the church for nearly ten years.”

I gape, utterly confounded by the revelation. Surely people had not gone a decade without the guidance of a church and a proper priest. “This is incredulous,” I tell her. “Where do people go for worship?”

“Those who can afford to go to the next village. Those who can’t, have service in their own home.”

I am even more appalled by the sacrilege. “There are no such things as ghost, Mrs. Ashby,” I insisted. “I will have the church ready by Sunday so that the parishioners have a proper place of worship once more.”

My earlier plan to explore the village is delayed as I poured all my time and energy into cleaning the derelict sanctuary. It is a toilsome and messy job but I am stubbornly adamant that the building is habitable as soon as possible. Stripping down to my black waistcoat and shirt-sleeves, I waste no time in clearing out the cobwebs and sweeping the floor of debris. Hours later, Mrs. Ashby appears in the doorway, laden with baskets. In one she has candles in and in the other lunch. Though she seems afraid, she steps inside the building nonetheless and sits out the candles. She lights them one by one until the church is not quite as murky. Though to completely eradicate the darkness, many more candles are needed as well as having the windows washed but I appreciate her help.

I eat quickly, hardly tasting the food, and soon get back to work. My body aches from the toil but I am dismayed at how little progress I have made. Mrs. Ashby helps a little but the random groans of the old building frighten her. Soon I am left alone once more.

Twilight descends and I am forced to stop. It is far too dark to continue and even I have to admit that the church does seem a little eerie now that my anger has been given time to cool. The wind blows though the open doors, whistling a peculiar song through the stone pillars that makes the hair on my back of my neck stand to attention. Within the bowels of the old building I begin to hear desperate howling. It only grows louder by the minute. The ground beneath my feet begins to shudder and the glass in the windows shake as if some powerful beast was scratching its way to the surface from beneath the church.

I gasp, startled, and run towards the door before I can think. In the privacy of my own mind I can admit that right now I am truly afraid.


	2. Chapter 2

Mrs. Ashby leaves for home soon after she serves dinner. I want to offer her a seat at the table but keep quiet for I know she is only too eager to go. I do not tell her of my experience within the church. Surrounded by the warmth and comfort of my home my moment of fright seems so ridiculous now. I laugh at my own foolishness and tell myself it was nothing. However, when I see Mrs. Ashby to the door, wondering if she will be back tomorrow, I notice that the church is once more a silent dark shadow. All the candles have been burnt out.

Sleep evades me that night and I am left alone with my thoughts. I try not to think of Mr. Norris’ slow descent into madness or my strange experience within the supposedly haunted church, while I try to find ways to occupy myself with the hours of free time I have on my hands.

I find the Bible tucked away in the nightstand beside my bed. With a sigh of relief I pull it out. It’s a giant tome, old, and the cover is threadbare as if it has been here for ages. I settle back into bed, hoping the familiar text would calm me, and open it up only to find that the thin pages of the holy book have been carved out to house a long black skeleton key. The desecration is as vile as the old key is beautiful. I sigh heavily, my brow knitted. Was this Father Norris’ doing? What kind of madness gripped his mind and drove him to desecrate the Holy Bible?

With a heavy heart, I close the book and slip out of my bed. My mind is restless and troubled at the discovery. Why was Mr. Norris allowed to linger in such a way for so long? With a candelabra in one hand I wander the old home, becoming acquainted with all the corners and quirks of the cottage until I feel quite familiar with it.

Still I am unable to sleep.

I make my way to the front parlor and in the end I find myself seated in front of the fireplace with a beaker of brandy in my hand. Surely after such a strange day the drink would restore my weakening constitution to its previous state. The sound of the fire burning and the drink are both soothing but they offer no comfort to ease my mind.

In the dark, lonely, depth of the night I recall Father Norris’ strange manuscript and then I am consumed by the thought of it. Against my better judgment I retrieve the journal to meticulously comb its contents as though it held all the answers to my questions within its brittle pages.

At first the writing is legible and intelligent so I can translate it without difficulty. Father Norris writes brief passages about his life as the only clergyman in Cotswold and I quickly devour them. About halfway through the journal the writing is no longer eloquent and the penmanship deteriorates drastically. I lean closer to the fire in the hopes that more light will help but it doesn’t. Father Norris’ thoughts are a chaotic disarray of fear, panic, and anger.

_He is here._

_I caught the demon, the lustful beast Asmodeus._

_He grants me life eternal. Locked away within the belly of Christ._

That is the last paragraph I am able to decipher before the words become unreadable and strange. For a moment I can only stare in horror at what I had just discovered in the journal of the slow deterioration of a once brilliant mind. The discovery is disturbing and I close the book quickly. It’s no use trying to read any further.

I can’t bear the thought of touching the manuscript anymore and quickly return it to its rightful spot on the dusty shelf.

I down the rest of my drink in one quick gulp, letting the burn of the drink soothe my wavering nerves, and take the candelabra from the side table as I head to bed. Though sleep will not my friend tonight I wish only to seek the refuge of my bed and forget the unsettling contents of the diary.

It’s dark upstairs and I cast every shadow I meet a suspicious look. I have never been superstitious but the eerie atmosphere and the loneliness of my new home prey on my thoughts until I am incapacitated with fear.

I lock my bedroom door and for a moment I feel at peace. I order myself to calm down. I chastise myself for being so pathetic and gullible when this village requires a clergyman of unshakable fortitude to overcome its broken past. When I feel more like myself I move away from the door and get ready for bed.

When I am in my nightshift and my face is washed, I am finally able to chuckle at my overactive imagination. If only the archbishop could see me now. He had praised me so highly on my levelheadedness at the college. If he could see that I had been reduced to a frighten child in a matter of hours since my arrival here he would have been shocked.

“Tomorrow will be better,” I promised as my finger touch the heavy cross that lies against my chest. “Lord, please grant me your strength.”

I walk across the room to the window. Before pulling back the rough wool curtains, I look out into the night. It would have been impossible to see the church without the aid of the full moon but I can see the outline of the building against the backdrop of the starry sky. The sight is almost peaceful until I see the tiny flames of the candles coming to life one by one.

* * *

 

I awake to find my mood as quarrelsome as the weather. My sleep had been a restive one, full of half remembered nightmares that had left little room for a peaceful slumber. I lay there, starring up at the ceiling with burning tired eyes, and am half tempted to go back to sleep. With the light of the morning, though dim, filling the room I can feel my fear begin to subside. However Mrs. Ashby’s movements in the lower level force me to shake the nonsense out of my head and I climb out of bed.

I move pass the window and I remember the strange lights glowing within the church. I put it out of my head quickly. I had just imagined it, I tell myself. I imagined it because I was drinking.

Ashamed of my craven behavior, I promised myself I would not allow it to overcome me again. The church is a sacred place of worship. The only being that could be found within its four walls is Christ and Christ alone, it was high time that I, as well as the people of the Cotswold, remember that.

I find Mrs. Ashby once more in the kitchen and am pleased to find her in high spirits. I smile at her before I sit down to eat.

“Good morning, Father Hiddleston,” she says with a smile as she places a bowl of porridge before me. “I trust you slept well.”

“Not good enough,” I answer honestly with a little chuckle, “but I am fine nevertheless.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that. What are your plans today? Will you take a stroll to the village? Many people are eager to meet you.”

I stir the porridge with my spoon to cool it down. “Not today I am afraid. I’m fully invested in cleaning the church,” I say as light-heartedly as possible. “A few more days and it will be as good as new.”

Mrs. Ashby is still for a moment and her face is pallid before she forces herself to smile. “Is there anything I can get you, Father?”

I know she is scared but I appreciate her willingness to help. “More candles would be helpful as well as some rags. I would like to clean the windows and let more light in. It’s such a beautiful church. It shouldn’t be hidden in the dark.”

* * *

 

I spend the day within the gloomy depths of the church. The cobwebs and birds’ nets are gone and more candles are burning, forcing the shadows back until there is nothing but the rosy glow of the soft orange candlelight filling the stone vaults. I spend the morning cleaning the windows and scrubbing the floors until my hands are aching and my skin is wrinkled. Luckily there have been no permanent damages to the solid frame or pillars in the decade of its sad neglect. No amount of effort, however, will be enough to make this simple country church a cathedral but it maintains its own simple grace that I find charming now that it is well-light and clean.

Nighttime soon falls again and I am exhausted as I rest for a moment in the sacristy. Mrs. Ashby had left hours ago but had been kind enough to bring me my dinner in a basket before her departure. I nibble on some bread and cheese as I rest, collecting my thoughts.

However, as soon as the light starts to fade I am once more nervous of the shadows. I make the effort to ignore the foolishness. I had been in the church all day and not once have I been scared or experienced any abnormality. In fact, I am proud of the work I have accomplished. Despite my fatigue, I continue to work at a determined pace after my meager respite.

It isn’t until I am sweeping the sacristy that I finally take notice of the wood hatch in the floor. It no doubt leads to the cellar but the lock is absurdly impressive for such a simple door and with that my interest is piqued. I nudge it with the toe of my shoe. The lock falls heavily against the wood. Upon closer inspection I find that it is solid steel and still largely undamaged.

“How odd,” I murmur, quite fascinated by the mystery.

The howls that erupt from the other side of the door catch me off guard. I jump back, terrified, as the door rattles against the lock. It shakes so violently that the dust is thrown off, revealing a strange design that had been burned into the wood. I stare until I realize that it’s a pentagram inside of a circle and my pounding heart plunges into my stomach.

The wrathful wails echo throughout the hollow building and I desire nothing more than to turn and run away but fear roots me to the spot. Over and over the howls detonate. Eventually they burn down until they are nothing but frail screams. They sound almost human at this point and then my fear gives way to panic.

I drop to my knees before the shuddering trapdoor and lean closer. “Hello?” I pound on the door. “Hello, is someone in there?”

The screaming stops all together and the thick silence that follows is chilling.

“Hello?” I yell louder so that my voice is reverberating throughout the church. “Is someone down there?”

I put my ear against the wood and concentrate. Eventually I start to hear sobbing. Wild, frighten sobbing. I pull back, horrified.

It seemed impossible that a person could be trapped down in the cellar but Father Norris had been a mad recluse. The idea is not so farfetched. In the daze of his insanity could he have locked some poor woman away down there? He could have and no one would have noticed.

“I’ll get you out,” I promised, climbing to my feet.

I locate a hammer in the main hall and run it back to the sacristy. I drive the head of the hammer again and again into the lock but it remains unbroken. A few more desperate swings later the tool breaks apart in my hand. It is futile I realized and tossed the remnants away in my anger. That is when I remembered the strange key buried in the Bible and I’m tearing out of the church and down the stone path to the dark parsonage.

I am trembling and out of breath with I find the key in my room but I return to the church as soon as I can even though my body is exhausted. It’s a struggle to release the heavy lock but in the end it opens and I force the weighty door away from its threshold until it slams back against the stone floor. The area beyond the opening is black and unnaturally quiet. I stare into the darkness, my chest heaving.

“Hello?” I called out once more. My voice echoes and eventually fades into nothing. My fear and panic dwindle in the unnatural stillness beyond the door and the doubts that begin to gnaw at my mind are troubling.

Was my mind playing tricks on me? Was the church truly haunted?

Finally I hear the sound of the woman’s voice floating up to me from beyond the cellar entrance. “Priest? Priest? Is that you, priest?”

“Yes, I am here,” I stammer, hurrying to fetch the lantern to see though the impenetrable darkness. “Are you hurt?”

“No, but I am frightened.”

“Do not worry, my child,” I reply as I walked carefully down narrow stone steps into the crypt. The darkness is thick beyond the light of my lantern and the area is impossibly large and frigid. I stand there, bewildered and confused, eager to rescue the woman but unsure of her location.

Eventually I start to hear the rattle of chains and I am sickened by the sound. I follow the sound and eventually my eyes adjust until I am standing before a door of steel lattice. Someone had turned the crypt of the church into a prison. My eyes strain in the darkness before I can see her in the corner. She is a small thing in a dirty shift, bound to the ground by lengths and lengths of silver chains. I am horrified.

Her eyes flash eerily in the lantern’s light as she turns her head to regard me. 

“Priest,” she breathes out softly. The light is too poor to see what she looks like but her voice is soft and youthful. “You are different from the other one.”

“I’m Thomas Hiddleston,” I tell her as calmly as possible. I do not know how long she has been down here and I don’t wish to scare her. “Father Norris is gone. Is he the one that kept you here?”

“Yes.” Her demeanor is strange. She is calm as she lingers in the corner and stares as if judging me. I sit the lantern down and exam the bars. The steel is old and cold as it digs into my skin I give a testing shake but the door is extraordinarily secure.

“Miss, I will free you. Do you know where he kept the key to your cell?”

“The key that opened the cellar will open this door as well.”

“Oh, thank the Lord,” I sighed in relief as I slipped the key from my waistcoat. I did not wish to leave the woman alone in search for a way to free her. The key slips into the lock quiet effortlessly. The cell door opens with a groan and I step inside. The woman watches quietly as I make my way to her.

Upon closer inspection I pale at the amount of chains wrapped around her arms and legs. There is even a heavy collar around her slim neck.

“Are you all right?”

She nods and holds out her hands. The manacles are absurdly large for such small limbs. “Will you unlock these too?”

“Of course,” I said and work as quickly as possible to free her. There are five locks in all that I release and eventually the endless amount of chain falls heavily to the damp floor, leaving her a free woman once more.

She is remarkably small and frail, I am surprised that she was able to withstand the burdensome weight of her chains for so long. She stares at herself as if dazed from the sudden freedom. She examines her hands closely, curling and uncurling her fingers before she focuses her attention on me. Her eyes are intense and I can feel myself slowly becoming uncomfortable in her presence but her wellbeing is my main priority.

“You have my thanks, priest,” she says softly.

“What is your name? Do you have family here in the village? I can take you to them.”

She cocks her head and continues to unsettle me with her imperturbable demeanor. “My name?” she echoes. “Oh, my name is not unknown to you, priest. It’s Asmodeus.”

Shock dumbs my tongue for a moment, though I can vaguely recall that name from the depths of my memories. It sounds familiar but my brain is such a scrambled mess that I am unable to figure out from where. She offers a lovely smile before her skin begins to waver. I stare, horrified, as the body of the young woman slowly dissolves, leaving a taller, leaner, man where she once stood. He is clothed in nothing but leather as black as his surroundings and his face is alarmingly drawn and pallid against his lengthy dark hair. He stares at me, his red lips forming a frightful smile as his eyes measure me.

I take a step back, realizing all too soon my grievous mistake when I suddenly remember the name. In a panic I grapple for the cross tucked beneath my shirt and hold on tight. This does not go unnoticed and his rigid face breaks into a gentle smile.

“ _Pater noster qui es in coelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum_ ,” I begin to whisper causing the creature’s face to twist in a horrible scowl. With a wave of his hand my voice dwindles until there is nothing but silence.

“None of that drivel now, priest,” he orders softly. He approaches, his eyes iridescent in the pale light. There is nothing intimidating or dangerous in his demeanor but without the ability to speak I feel vulnerable. I retreat until there is nothing but the cold stone wall pressing against my back. He looms over me, impossibly tall, sinister, and beautiful, and I am so very afraid.

“Do you know what I am?”

I nod.

“And does it frighten you, Thomas?”

Another nod and the demon smiles again. “I may be a demon,” he breaths, his voice impossibly soft and gentle despite the coldness I see in his eyes, “but I am also a prince and I know I ought to show my savior some hospitality.” He waves his hand once more, returning my voice to me and I stagger against the wall, my legs too weak to hold me upright any longer.

“Father Norris spoke of you in his journal,” I stammer. My voice is pathetically brittle, even to my ears. 

The demon snarls in disgusts and begins to pace the cell like a caged animal. He is fraught with restless vehemence and I curse myself for speaking. “Father Norris is a frightfully clever little mortal,” he hisses. “He made a trap for me after our bargain. I don’t think his wish for immortality went exactly as planned.”

He stops and turns to me. He moves suddenly, too sudden for me to see and escape, and I am forced against the wall with a cold, unyielding hand around my neck. I gasp, trembling, as the demon comes even closer.

“You have my gratitude for freeing me. I’ll make sure your death is quick and painless before I tear this pathetic little village down stone by stone starting with this damned church.”

The grip tightens around my throat and I claw at it. “Wait!”

Asmodeus pauses and when I am able to breathe again, I start to speak, eager for a few more precious moments of life. “What bargain did you have with Father Norris?”

The demon looks amused like a cat amused with the futile attempts of a mouse to save its own life. “He wished for eternal life. I gave it to him and in return he would allow me to use this town for my own amusement but in the end he betrayed me. He locked me away but from my prison I turned him into an old man, for if I was to suffer than so would he. ”

“You ruined his mind.”

“Glad to hear it,” Asmodeus returned rather jubilantly.

“I cannot allow you to destroy the village,” I say but my voice is far from intimidating.

“Oh, is that so? I am terribly sorry, boy, but I am not in the mood to barter.”

“In exchange for the safety of the village, I offer myself,” I speak as quickly as I could as I felt the hand begin to crush my throat again. My life is not much but I feel it is my duty as a priest to dissuade the demon by any means possible. “You may kill me, do what you want with me, but please leave the village alone.”

My voice is trembling and I’m deeply frightened but I cannot allow this demon to terrorize innocent people. He stares at me quietly, hardly breathing before he says, “Perhaps I _am_ in the mood to make a deal, Thomas.”

I sigh and close my eyes. The victory is bittersweet. The village is saved but I have forfeited my own life and now all I have to look forward to is a painful death in the cellar of my church. I pray to the Lord for the courage to bear my fate.

The hand moves away from my tender neck. I wince when I feel cold fingertips sweep across my cheek. “For a priest, you are awfully melodramatic,” the demon laughs, his lips uncomfortably close to my own.

I swallowed thickly. “I am preparing myself for death.”

“When someone offers their very body for my own amusement, the last thing I want to do is kill them, dear Thomas.”

The dread I feel in my stomach makes me suddenly nauseous. I open my eyes, unsure of my standing but I dare not speak.

The demon smiles and turns his head until his lips are close to my ear. His very breathe makes me shudder. “In all my long years upon this pathetic little planet I have found no better taste than the spunk of virgins.”

I’m thrown to the ground, landing hard on my hands and knees, before the implication of his words can terrify me. I’m disoriented for a moment. When I try to stand a hand grips the scruff of my neck, firmly anchored me to the dirt floor. The demon settles behind me, a mass as unyielding as stone, and suddenly I’m too frightened to fight back. I breathe in deeply and I can smell the wet earth against my face.

“Please, don’t.”

“Poor, sweet, Thomas,” he coos softly. I close my eyes, a frightened prayer swirling around in my mind, as the sound of metal and shifting garments echo in the cold vault. A whimper dies in the back of my throat and I squeeze my eyes shut when I feel my trousers methodically ripped away.

“If you were a more willing partner this would be a lot more pleasurable for you,” Asmodeus says, “but mortals are stupidly prudish.”

I tremble when his hand slips under my shirt to touch the naked flesh of my back with frenzied greed. I gasp, fraught with deep humiliation, but cannot stop him from exploring every inch of my vulnerable body. The hand wanders the length of my spine towards my tailbone and I am unprepared when it settles on my rear. A finger slips between the cleft to stroke my puckered entrance and instinctively my body lurches away. The hand on my neck tightens however and I am pushed harder into the floor.

 “Especially their priests,” he murmurs. One of his thighs nudges my own further apart effortlessly and he continues to explore my most private of places. Eventually his fingers stubbornly coax something else besides revulsion from me until I am a whimpering mess even as I am red-faced with shame. Under his thorough ministrations my vile body betrays me and I am undeniably stiff between my thighs. When a long finger eventually enters my body my moans reverberate across the cellar. “They just need more tutelage.”

Asmodeus sets a slow and deliberate pace that my body eagerly craves. Over and over again, he pushes his finger into my tight body, burying it completely and curling the digit until I am overcome by disorienting pleasure. My voice shakes and eventually my skin begins to burn from the sinful penetration that does not fail to arouse a dark desire within me.

“You are such a lovely mortal, Thomas,” the demon purrs. “With such a lovely voice.”

Then the hand is gone and I barely have time to recover when I feel something else press into me. Asmodeus bucks his hips, rubbing what can only be his heavy, swollen cock along my crevice. I shudder violently at feeling of such heat. Fear wanes as my arousal overpowers me and my body can only clinch in anticipation of what is to come.

He leans over me, running his lips against my hot skin. He teases my ear with his tongue and I attempt to steel myself from the assault but it is useless.

“Tell me one thing, Thomas,” he whispers. “Did it ever cross your mind that you would one day be fucked by a demon?”

I shake my head wildly, waiting for the inevitable pain. Only it did not come. His fingers once again start to probe me. This time it is aided with a cooling ointment makes them slide effortlessly in and out of my slowly loosening hole. He continues to toy with me until I can only feel nothing but restless pleasure and a terrible, gaping want.

Caught up in an truly animalist urge, I wish only to pleasure myself as I had as a young boy with my own hands to ease the hunger I feel burning in my bones before a debilitating shame overwhelms me. I moan and ball my fist into the dirt, determined not to give in to the sordid temptation.

As much as Asmodeus has exploited my body I am still unprepared when he finally mounts me. With one rapid snap of his hips he is completely buried inside of me. The unnatural violation is painful; however, I cannot help but embrace his girth wholeheartedly despite my discomfort. A splintered groan spills from my lungs and I shudder when I feel the hand on my neck tighten, fingers rubbing sensitive skin over and over.

Asmodeus’ primal grunts fill the air and make my insides burn as he rocks his hips agonizingly slow against mine until I feel like I can hold no more or stretch anymore to accommodate his length. Then he is retreating and my body is shuddering and rebelling against the sudden withdrawal. A hand on my hip holds me still as he surges forward again, forcing his cock further into my body far more roughly than before and another moan is forced from my lung.

“Careful, priest,” Asmodeus teases as his hips begin to pump at a faster rhythm that knocks all thoughts of the repulsiveness of the brutal coupling from my mind. “You might convince me that you are enjoying this.”

His voice is a breathless growl that only increases my need even as I blush from his words. Remembering myself, I struggle to keep silent but it is an impossible task. Every thrust is ruthlessly measured and firm, jarring wordless, wanton sounds from my throat. He is an overwhelming storm of lust and control and I’m caught in the middle, suffering the carnal torment.

For my own well-being the assault is short-lived. My body is weak and aching from the abused, ready for respite, when Asmodeus’ graceful movements begin to falter. His moan is guttural and rough as I feel him spill inside me. It isn’t pleasant and I want to squirm away but I am his prisoner. His hands squeeze bruises into my skin, as he presses his cock agonizingly deep inside my burning body until his pleasure has passed.

In the aftermath we are both a breathless mess. Over the sound of my heart pounding in his ears I hear Asmodeus swear viciously in a language I have never heard before.

I’m still in a state of confusion when Asmodeus pulls out and flips me over onto my back I don’t fight him. I stare up at him, face hot with embarrassment as my neglected cock lies heavily on my abdomen, and he stares back, disheveled but still painfully beautiful and smiles penitently as he struggles for breathe.

“My endurance is sadly lacking after a decade of solitude, my sweet,” he murmurs almost apologetically. He sits down on his heels, placing his hands around my knees. With a powerful push he forces my legs apart and crawls between them. I gape, utterly bewildered and mortified. Any effort to protest dies when I feel his hand on my cock, the smooth pad of this thumb gliding over the wet crown tenderly. I shudder, gasping from the unsolicited pleasure.

“But I know other ways that could please my new plaything,” he purrs before he swallows my cock. My moan rips through my throat as a sodden heat surrounds me. His mouth is relentless as he coerces my undoing. I am helpless to stop the inevitable. I just cover my face with my hands and pray for God’s forgiveness when I spill into the wicked crevasse.

He devours every last drop of my arousal with a pleasant hum, releasing me with a wet and vulgar sound, while I cower behind my hands.

“I see that twenty some odd years of celibacy have taken a toll on your endurance as well,” Asmodeus teases as he vulgarly smacks his lips.

I am shaking with anger suddenly but I make no movement to uncover my teary eyes. Now that the pleasure has passed I am left only with my humiliation and rage. I keep quiet for fear of saying something I will regret.

Once more I feel him move above me. He presses his lips against my burning cheek and whispers, “Until next time, my darling priest.”

There is a swirl of air and then the demon is gone. I am left alone in the cold vault, battered and bruised, too shocked to move until the chill becomes too uncomfortable to stay any longer.

It’s a struggle to make it back to my home. Every unsteady step is agony for my broken body. I feel too tender and sore and am pathetically disheveled. I keep my mind as numb as possible though the tears are barely held at bay and my breath comes out in soundless sobs.

Relief to find my home as empty as the cellar leaves me weak for I had suspected the demon to linger in the shadows to once again misuse me. I stagger stiffly down the hallway to the kitchen with nothing but the fading light of the lantern to guide me. Before she had left, Mrs. Ashby had filled the old metal tube in the corner of the room with water. By now it has grown cold but nevertheless I pull away my tattered clothes, eager to shed the filthy garments, and climb in. I make an effort to move as carefully as possible but the movements jar my aching joints unpleasantly and I hiss from the pain.

The freezing water only intensifies the shudders that rack my body but I stay there until every last speck of dirt, sweat, and seed is washed away from my skin. By now the numbness has faded and the tears begin to fall as I feel my control slowly start to slip. I am out of the tube in seconds. I need to preoccupy myself or my long overdue relapse will be my undoing.

I gather my clothes, intent on burning them in the morning, and dry off quickly. I’m shivering violently and quickly hide within the sanctuary of my room. I change into my nightgown and bury myself under the heavy layer of blankets, wrapping them tight around me. Eventually I stop shivering long enough that I am able to fall asleep with a prayer on my lips.

* * *

 

I rouse late in the morning, still horribly sore, when Mrs. Ashby knocks on my door. My mind is still sluggish so I can only stare as she comes in with a tray of breakfast. She looks worried but she smiles at me nonetheless. I, however, cannot return the gesture.

“I brought you some food, Father Hiddleston, in case you were hungry,” she says softly as she places the tray in the nightstand. “Are you well?”

“Yes,” I lie quickly. I grimace when I sit up, rubbing the remnants of my heavy slumber from my face. Despite my discomfort, the prospect of a soothing cup of tea is too appealing to ignore. “Yes, I’m fine. I believe I have outdone myself these last couple of days.”

“I am not surprised, Father Hiddleston,” she scolds gently. “You must be more careful so you don’t wear yourself out. Shall I fetch the doctor?”

“No, Mrs. Ashby. I will be all right after a day of rest.”

She smiles at me and pats my head. Like my own mother she runs her fingers gingerly through my messy curls. Suddenly my heart no longer feels so burdened and I smile warmly up at her.

“Now, eat up. I’ll be at the village for a couple of hours,” she tells me as she makes her way to the door. “Is there anything that you need?”

I shake my head and she is gone. The breakfast she has left me smells wonderful but I drink only the tea, not sure if I could stomach anything other than the warm liquid. After I nurse a cup, I curl up once more under the covers and close my eyes.

I am inconsolable, torn between conflicting of emotions. On one hand the horror of my bargain with the demon makes me quake in fear. On the other I am full of doubt. Surely Christ would not abandon me for consorting with a demon even if the village is to left in peace? I pray for strength and forgiveness as I fall asleep once more.

It’s well passed noon by the time I rise from my bed. Though my mind feels much clearer, I am still dreadfully tired. The idea of changing is repellent so I wrap a robe about my body over my night gown before descending down the steps with the tray of cold food in my hands. The house is quiet with Mrs. Ashby still away. I dispose of the tray in the kitchen, locating some fresh bread and cheese to sate the hunger churning in my stomach.

I am reading in the parlor when Mrs. Ashby returns in an obvious state of excitement. I can only gape at her from the recliner in front of the fireplace as she pulls off her bonnet. Her round cheeks are flushed and her eyes bright.

“I return with good news, Father Hiddleston,” she confesses with a cheery smile. “I meet a fine gentleman in the village this morning. Mr. Lewis has taken everyone by surprise for he has bought the abandoned estate, Harwood Park, to the south of the church. Now that he is out of the military he is determined to fix up the old place. Why he should is beyond me but he is most eager to meet you as you will be his neighbor now. He will be here any moment.”

I stare at her and look back at my shabby attire. “I am not dressed properly to entertain any guest, especially a gentleman.”

“I told him you were unwell but he was quiet adamant to meet you,” she tells me looking quiet helpless. “He promises that he will only take a moment of your time.”

There is a knock at the door and the utter embarrassment renders me mute.

“Oh, that ought to be him now,” Mrs. Ashby says and she is practically beaming. “He is a very nice man, Father Hiddleston.”

I climb to my feet with a sigh. Even if I’m dressed like a pauper I am still able to greet the man appropriately. When Mrs. Ashby returns there is a tall, well-dressed Corinthian behind her. Although his dark hair is fashionably shorter now and is clothed in modern garments, befitting a man of rank, I can only stare as Asmodeus smirks and bows to me.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Father Hiddleston.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Dawn finds me awake and ready for the day even before Mrs. Ashby arrives. Not wishing to miss the crisp spring morning, I dress in the fading darkness and leave my cottage to stroll through the slowly waking countryside.

With the church restored to its proper state, I have found myself with quite of lot of time on my hands and spend most of that time away from my home. Both the beauty and the solitude of the English landscape are better than any medicine and a fraudulent sense of peace settles in my heart as I ramble through the verdant hills that bury my past nightmare in the darkest corner of my mind. Of course it would be prudent to stay entirely on the north side to keep away from any unsavory neighbors but my incorrigible curiosity diverts my journey to the south.

It seems as if Asmodeus has faded like a vague memory but every day the enamored Mrs. Ashby gushes about latest gossip of Mr. Lewis so I know he is still here in the village, an actor fully integrated into his role as Cotswold’s newest resident gentleman, though he has been kind enough to leave me be since his morning visit. I pray every day that he has lost interest in my dull person but I fear that is not the case.

Harwood Park is the only estate within the southern vicinity of my church. I pause at the top of a hill, a safe distance away, to take in the manifestation of a man’s earthly wealth and status in a state of abject decay.  Once the home had surely been an impressive abode of a gentleman but now it is nothing but a crumbling shell. Already a troop of workhands toil in the pale light to return the mansion to its former grandeur and I sigh, resigned.

After I realize that my mind has not fabricated Asmodeus, I no longer feel safe lingering so close to his home and depart. 

The sun is cresting over the horizon, burning away last of the ghostly mist, when I return to my home. I am not expecting any visitors. Clearly Mrs. Ashby hasn’t either and looks a little flustered as she informs me that Mr. Lewis is waiting for me in the library as I step inside my home. The contentment the morning has bestowed upon me is utterly shattered but the smile freezes on my face. I do not wish to cause the elderly woman to fret on my behalf.

“I told him I had no idea of your return but he seemed content to wait for you,” she says, apologetically. I can’t fault her for her affability towards the demon. As far as I am aware, he has never given her a reason to doubt his benevolent nature. She has only seen the kind and generous Mr. Lewis and, like many others of the village, has been thoroughly deceived by the false performance.

“It’s all right,” I reply, shedding my coat and hat. “Would you be so kind as to bring us some tea?”

“Of course, Father.” Taking my belongings, she disappears down the hallway and I am left alone, utterly disturbed and afraid now that I am alone.

I make my way down the hallway slowly, schooling my face into an expression of resolution even as my thoughts immediately turn to what could have warranted such an unexpected call. I grow cold at only obvious possibility. I begin to fret. Surely he is not here to harass me. It’s the middle of the morning and we are not the only ones within the house but I have to remind myself that our deal has left me in no position to negotiate. Dread makes my stomach lurch unpleasantly.

I take a deep breath before forcing myself to open the door and step inside the library.

Asmodeus looks quite comfortable as he sits before the fireplace with his long legs stretched out before him. He is swathed in remarkably expensive garments, every bit the enviable Corinthian he has no trouble epitomizing.

“There you are, my dear,” he says, flashing me a charming smile as he climbs to his feet.

I stare at him, dumbfounded by the heartfelt welcome, and clutch the doorknob as if it is the only thing that is keeping me upright.  His appearance continues to unnerve me. He has made himself an impossibly handsome man with clear blue eyes and hair that doesn’t seem so black in the yellow sunlight filling my shabby library. Want floods my body. I am unused to feeling such an insatiable ache and I am horrified. Through determination and hard work I have managed to stay pure my entire life but with the arrival of this horrid demon it appears as if I am content to play the whore and make a total mockery of my vows.

Resentment surges like a wave in my chest, emboldening me enough to challenge him when I ought to cower in fear. Being kind was not part of the bargain after all.

All etiquette is blatantly ignored as I demand the reason for his visit. Though my rudeness makes me chafe under my skin, I have to remind myself he is not human and certainly not a gentleman deserving of my esteem.

His cheerfulness is checked and frowns. “You’re upset. I merely wish to talk, Thomas.”

The disappointment in his face is enough to give me pause. It’s embarrassing how quickly my bravado crumbles and the guilt I feel is crushing. I am simply incapable of being callous.

“My apologies, Asmodeus,” I say quietly, taking shelter behind my cluttered desk. “That was rude of me.”

“Do not fret so, my dear,” he returns, taking a seat once more. It’s incredibly unjust how handsome and elegant he is and I find myself staring inappropriately hard at his hands as my traitorous mind reminds me how those long, elegant fingers enticed me into a state of wretched depravity. When Mrs. Ashby interrupts us with a tray of tea I am I’m exceedingly grateful.

My reverie is gone but I am left with the lingering side effects, confused and ashamed of my lack of control. While I brood unhappily over the manifestations of my desire, the exchange between Asmodeus and Mrs. Ashby is surprisingly pleasant. The two get on remarkably well.  They, no doubt, have struck a friendship in the village while I have hidden in the countryside.

When the housekeeper takes her leave, I preoccupy myself by pouring the tea, buying time until I have our intended discourse. My hands shake and silver pot rattles loudly against the cups. Asmodeus silently measures me and I feel the heavy weight of his watch. His strange eyes are disquietingly intense and I cannot help but feel self-conscious and stubbornly ignore the demon.

“All right there, Thomas?”

I nod irritably. “Yes,” I lie quickly. “I haven’t eaten yet today.”

Asmodeus scowls and takes the pot from my hands, shooing me back into my seat, before filling my cup and handing it to me. I want to savor the sweet, warm liquid and then the biscuit Asmodeus offers me but I am inattentive. In my entire life I have never felt such all-consuming want and I wait for it to subside. Several quiet moments pass before I feel like I can safely look at him.

“You wanted to discuss something?”

“Hm?…Oh, yes. I wanted to tell you that I’m going away for a bit. I’m afraid my kingdom has gone to ruins in my absence. I doubt my brothers were considerate enough to look after my things, seeing they could not be bothered to check up on me.” The amiable font finally slips and the bitterness sips through. His back is rigid as he taps his long fingers against the arms of his chair, looking very much the regal monarch. I’m hopelessly spellbound by the vision though I don’t know how much faith I can put into his words. “But enough of that tedious business.” With a wave of his hand, the prince is gone and I am left with the flirt. “Are you still satisfied with our bargain?”

My tea cup clamors loudly against the saucer and I gape as he chuckles at my skittish reaction. I have no cheeky retort to save face and redden when I reflect that my innocence must offer Asmodeus infinite amounts of amusement.

“No,” I snap back as bitterly as I can, disposing my teacup upon the desk.

“Well, I must try harder then, shouldn’t I, Thomas?” He leans forward, eyes unblinking. Even though the desk separates us, I feel cornered, vulnerable, and all I want to do is retreat.  “How is our bond affecting you?”

“I want you,” I prattle without thinking and pale immediately. I hadn’t meant to speak so frankly and cover my mouth, mortified. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

Asmodeus chuckles softly. “Yes, well that’s one of the lovely effects of our little bond, Thomas.”

“What are you saying exactly?” I ask but I’m not sure I want to know the answer.

“I agreed to our bargain because you offered yourself completely to me. I’m your master, Thomas, in every sense of the word.” His charming smile is suddenly sinister and I swallow thickly, feeling nauseated. “If I want to hear the truth from you, I will have it. If I want you to suck my cock, you will. You are utterly incapable of disobeying me.”

Just when I might have been mislead by Asmodeus’ charm and goodwill, this one threat splinters the illusion and I become painfully mindful of my servile position. I look away, lips pressed together as I grip my hands together in my lap to stop them from shaking. I have to remind myself that this devious bargain was struck for the greater good.

I visibly jump when Asmodeus touches my shoulder. He has come to my side with astonishing speed, again reminding me that he is in fact supernatural being and not to be dealt with frivolously. The touch is gentle but it keeps me seated nevertheless. I begin to panic and, while the gentle kiss on the neck might be comforting to some, it has me flying out of the chair. I skirt the desk and seek refuge against the bookcases, as terrified as I had been in the cellar.

Asmodeus sighs, holding his hands up and makes no attempt to come closer. I can only stare, wide-eyed and desperate. While I do feel flashes of sordid desire for the demon, I am certainly not anticipating another attack with bated breath.

“Am I scaring you?”

“Of course!”

“That isn’t my intent. Truly, Thomas.”

I take several deep breaths, closing my eyes to regain any sort of control over my body, before begging for the impossible. “Leave, Asmodeus. Please leave.” I am frightened and if given half a chance to cry I do believe I will. I don’t want the demon to see me like this though he has already seen me at my worst.

His sigh is a heavy one as he looked absolutely resigned and turns towards the door. I cannot believe it. I collapse against the shelves, my hands clasp in front of me, and wait for him to depart. My joy is short lived when I see him lock the door before coming towards me. He stops just inches away. I cower, ardently hoping that if I am to be assaulted again it would end quickly. I gasp when he grabs my face, forcing me to look up at him. A moment passes and I am unable to look away from the intensity I see in his eyes.

I’m not expecting the demon to kiss me. It’s a simple press of his mouth against mine but I would be a fool not to recognize his dominance. My desire is ignited once more and I am helpless to control it. I’m not sure I even want to. A telltale whimper escapes my throat as my hands grasp the labels of his coat, dragging his form closer. My fright wanes as longing fills me and I can’t seem to satisfy it no matter how close our bodies are pressed together.

I shudder when I feel his mouth part against mine and his tongue laps at my lips. Only when he is tugging on my lower lip with his teeth do I give into his silent demands. Little moans collect in my throat as his tongue strokes mine. His grip is tight as his lips slant over my own repeatedly, as if possessed by incorrigible hunger. It the most shocking way to kiss but I pay no heed to the perversion.

I am breathless by the time Asmodeus pulls away. He smirks as one of his thumbs caresses my swollen lower lip gently. “I much prefer this side of you, Thomas,” he purrs affectionately. “You’re so docile, and so deliciously insatiable.”

I’m not sure how much of my desire is willed by the demon but I can’t bring myself to protest as he guides me towards the desk and forces me to sit upon the edge. He stands between my legs. Without thought I press my legs against his powerful thighs and throw my arms about his broad shoulders, anchoring his solid form to mine as he masters me with those sinful kisses once more. His hands roam my body, grasping the meat of my thighs and then my buttocks before slipping around to palm the bulge that is starting to tent my trousers.

I break away, bite my lips to stifle a groan, and I feel him kiss my flushed cheek. He pants into my ear, “Sweet Thomas, can you be utterly quiet?”, all the while massaging my stiffening cock.

Several heaving breaths later, I manage a slight nod and then Asmodeus’ fingers are quickly undoing the tiny buttons that secure the opening. I tense, my toes curling as my head swims, when his hand finally wraps around my shaft to pull me free. He pumps me several times, agonizingly slow, and I have to bite down on my finger to keep quiet.

Then his hand deserts me. For a moment I am disappointed until he grabs my hips and roughly drags me closer to him. I can feel his erection pressing against me as he grinds our bodies together to create the friction my body craves unbeknownst to my mind.  My legs wrap tighter around him as my breath escapes in soft, hesitant gasp. His hands are tight on my thighs as he moves more firmly against me.

“You’re so lovely,” he whispers, pressing a kiss into my sweaty brow.

The sound of clothing rustling breaches my passion and I can only watch, transfixed, as he unbuttons his own trousers to rub his naked length against mine. At the sight of his impressive size, I suddenly feel too embarrassed, and blush warmly. My eyes remain close for the rest of the deed even as Asmodeus chuckles in my ear.

“You’re so hard and full of want, Thomas,” he whispers darkly, hips canting towards mine. “Surely I am satisfying you now.”

His large hand encircles our cocks, pumping at a rapidly escalating pace. I bite down on my lip again as my feel as if I’m about to burst from the inside out and it’s a wonderful, intoxicating sensation. After a few more determined jerks, I am whimpering and spilling onto his hand. I curl forward, burying my face against his neck and sinking my teeth into his flesh. Asmodeus trembling against me almost immediately and then he is coming with a primal groan that makes me bite down even harder.

We stay still a moment, both relishing the pervading euphoria, before Asmodeus pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and begins to clean up. Reality is sobering. I realize how close I cling to that large body and I pull away as if he were made of fire, my face red hot.

“Now, don’t be embarrassed, Thomas,” Asmodeus chuckles as he places a softer kiss on my forehead. “That was very wonderful.”

I glare at him before hopping off the desk and making sure my back is to him before I put some order back into my hopelessly disheveled clothes. When I turn around, Asmodeus is immaculate as if by magic.

“Take care, Thomas. I’ll return within a fortnight or so.”


	4. Chapter 4

It’s one of the most peaceful intervals I have ever had. Since I no longer have to live in fear, I amble freely about the countryside and take pleasure in meeting the welcoming parishioners in the village during the afternoon. Even Mrs. Ashby noticed the change in my mood and I have to resort to telling her that I had been feeling homesick which makes her embrace as if I was her own child.

For two weeks I am able to forget Asmodeus but on the fourteenth night I feel an unnerving tug within my chest as if someone is wrenching an invisible thread that’s been tied around my heart. My limbs walk me from my library and over the darkening fields towards the refurbished mansion as if I am utterly possessed. It’s an unsettling feeling.

The mansion glows as if alive on the horizon, miraculously restored to its former glory.  How the estate can be completely renovated is beyond my comprehension. It seems physically impossible but the closer to get to it the better my disbelieving eyes are told the truth. Looking at the sprawling mansion now, I could not believe it had been a crumbling vestige weeks before and I have to consider if Asmodeus sped up the renovation through ungodly means.

It’s a truly magnificent, solid building fashioned out of beige stone. Four massive pillars at the front entrance support a finely detailed portico above the main door. I can also spy more columns on the sides of the mansion. Bright, countless windows overlook the pristine lawn as I make my way down the extensive gravel driveway.

The heavy front doors open inward as I approach and I enter the home, scowling. Two weeks away from Asmodeus’ harassment are suddenly too short and I am not eager to reconnect with my new master. My trepidation is unwarranted.  The massive house utterly devoid of company even though there are countless candles burning as if visitors are to be expected at any moment.

The silence within the grand foyer is oppressive and I find myself strolling throughout the lower level in a state of stupefaction to ease my mind. Luxury saturates every inch of Asmodeus’ house, rendering it more a palace than a country estate. Every room is bedecked with soft Persian rugs, extravagant artwork and décor, and lushly upholstered furniture. I have never beheld such opulence in my life and I am in awe. Eventually the irresistible smell of food entices me into the formal dining hall where I see that a great feast has been laid out. The massive hall, like the rest of the mansion, is empty. I’m sufficiently curious and head towards the heavily burdened table. The food is still warm and the meat succulent and juicy, as if it had been put out only moments before by invisible hands.

I consider filching a cream puff from a plate of desserts before the wide doors of the room reopens with such a force that they bangs against the wall. I jump, spinning around as my heart pounds within my chest, and Asmodeus marches across the room with a tempestuous scowl darkening his face. I recoil, pondering what could have brought on such a foul mood. Once he is upon the feast, he snubs the food in favor of the wine. Silence reigns as I wait for him to speak, not wishing to break his concentration. I fear I would be on the receiving end of that terrible frown if I dare speak before he is willing to leave his thoughts.

After draining a glass, he no longer appears as ill-tempered. Nevertheless I’m still anxious when he finally glances in my direction. The atmosphere is positively volatile and I am suddenly desperate to mollify it, afraid of what dark intentions Asmodeus might be concocting in his mind as I dither.

“May I have some wine too?” I stupidly ask because I cannot think of anything else. To be honest I’m quite curious about his trip.  During my education in Rome the topic of a literal Hell was something that was not expanded upon beyond the nine circles but I suspect that his personal affairs are a reason for his terrible mood.

My question seems to separate him from his dark disposition.

“Of course,” he murmurs and I watch him from the corner of my eye as he fills up another glass goblet. I’m not an admirer of wine but I will drink it if it means Asmodeus’ will be in a more agreeable mood. I skulk towards the demon to take the cup he offers.

“Do you have any siblings, Thomas?” The sudden question throws me off guard and I shake my head quickly. “You’re very lucky,” he says. He tips back the bottle of wine and drinks from it, forgoing his glass altogether now. “They are monstrously overestimated.”

“S-so your trip didn’t proceed as planned?”

“Oh, it went exactly as planned, Thomas,” he replies sardonically, his hot eyes steady on my face. "The fools left my kingdom to rot. Meanwhile the fools were content to let Satan run wild. Hell is in shambles.”

I was stunned, unsure if the true status of Hell ought to fall onto mortal ears. “That sounds really…awful.”

Asmodeus gives me an exasperated sort of look and I baulk, regretting that I ever spoke. Then his temper is checked and he groans, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips as if to ease a headache in an entirely human gesture. 

“Let’s leave this subject now before I become even more of a cad,” he murmurs. He leans against the table, his long legs crossed at the ankles, and reaches out for me. His hand catches my elbow and he pulls me gently towards him. I fully expect to be assaulted but then his hand falls to his side to curve around the lip of the table, preoccupied by unvoiced thoughts as I stand beside him.

My eyes focus on my cup because I cannot bear the thought of looking at him. No longer cutting such a daunting figure, I worry what my imprudence might lead me to do. For a moment I am shockingly aware of just how much I have pined for Asmodeus while he had been gone.

“How was the journey here?”

His low raspy voice wrenches me from my disturbing thoughts and I am grateful. “It was unsettling,” I speak honestly. “It felt like I was being pulled here. If you can refrain from doing that in the future, I would be very obliged.”

“I apologize, Thomas, but I couldn’t wait to see you.”

“You could have appeared at my house,” I pointed out but amended quickly as I blush, “Not that I would have welcomed you of course.”

He shoots me a rakish smirk that wreaks havoc on my self-possession and I focus my attention back to my untouched cup of wine. The warm hand on the back of my neck makes the breath caught in my throat. I swallow thickly and lick my lips. “Believe me, it was tempting,” Asmodeus murmurs into my ear, “but I have a guest to entertain and his tastes aren’t as refined as mine.”

My brow knits as I wonder if I had been given a compliment before my attention to diverted to the doorway as another man staggers in. Though he is young, dark, and handsome, his once fine garments are slovenly assembled. His black hair is tousled, longer than what is fashionable, and his jaw is covered in stubble. It is clearly obvious to me that he is very deep in his cups.

“Asmo,” he shouts as he enters the hall, “your home is truly magnificent!”

Asmodeus’ mood undergoes a surprising transformation and he grins warmly at the drunken newcomer. “Thank you, Beelzebub, but coming from you that’s not much of a compliment.”

“You ass,” the man laughs before he sprawls out in the extravagant, tall-backed chair nearest to us. “Ah, I see you’ve started to drink without me. That’s very wicked of you.”

“Yes, well, I told you that dinner was about to start and you wandered off to the gallery.”

“Can you blame me?” The man looks at me with cerulean eyes and says, “Asmo, here, is an avid collector of naughty art. You ought to do yourself a favor and look at his assortment. It’s quite remarkable. He has things dating back to the delightful Mesopotamia Empire that he nicked them himself.”

“That’s enough for now, brother.”

 I look to Asmodeus for answers for I am beside myself with confusion.

“Thomas, I’d like to introduce my brother, Beelzebub. Beel, this is Father Thomas.”

Beelzebub looks sincerely delighted to make my acquaintance and performs a showy wave, the multiple rings gleaming in the candlelight. “Oh, a man of God! Well, forget I ever mentioned the gallery. No use in seeing what you have sworn to renounce.”

Aside from exorcism I have never been endowed with the proper ways to handle such a supernatural audience but I am fairly certain that laughter is not the appropriate response. Still an involuntary chuckle still finds its way to my lips and I am once more the center of Asmodeus’ attention as I bite my lower lip to suppress my smile.

“I thought you said you didn’t like your siblings,” I whisper, desperately trying to ignore the hand that’s slowly stroking up and down my back.

“He’s one of the few I don’t outright despise right now.”

That has Beelzebub rolling his eyes as he reaches for another bottle of wine. “Will you quit your bellyaching for a moment, Asmo? We all thought you had absconded and I already told you I was sorry. At all water under the bridge now, brother.”

Asmodeus looks offended.

“What’s ten years for us anyway? Or a hundred for that matter?” He stops talking long enough to squint at the bottle and scowls when he reads the label. “Still drinking this shite? If you would have told me I would have brought my own brew.”

“Maybe later,” Asmodeus returns before taking his place at the head of the table. His abandonment is so acutely disappointing that I have to shake myself to regain composure. When I remain standing, he sighs and gestures to the vacant chair.  I sit quickly, opposite of Beelzebub. The strange newcomer is definitely a surprise but at least he does not frighten me. He is certainly not what I expected a demon to be.

Once we are settled Asmodeus signals towards the door and to my surprise I see a dignified old man step out of the shadows. “Maurice, serve dinner.”

I rudely stare, caught off guard by the way the candlelight reflects in his eyes and wonder briefly if he too is a fiend. He serves us silently, taking my plate first only to return it piled with the savory fare. Though I am nervous, I thank him while both Asmodeus and Beelzebub remain indifferent to the servant. I briefly wonder if all princes act so outrageously arrogant before looking down at my plate. Though the lavish delicacies are tempting, I am reminded of Persephone’s plight with the pomegranate.

Beelzebub does not share my restraint and devours the food like a starving man. Asmodeus shows much for self-control and elects to use the silver utensils besides his teeming plate.

“Is there something wrong, Thomas?”

“Are you familiar with the story of Hades giving Persephone a pomegranate to eat?”

Asmodeus laughs. “Of course. Though this food was summoned supernaturally, it’s entirely natural.”

“You mean it’s entirely wonderful,” Beelzebub adds, licking his greasy fingers before he begins to refill his plate. “So, how long to you plan to stay here, brother?”

“Now that I have my affairs in order, I’m in no hurry to return home.” Even though my eyes are solely focused on my plate, I am aware of Asmodeus staring at me. My heart begins to pound and I fear that my blushing cheeks have betrayed my devious want. 

“I cannot fault you,” Beelzebub responds before taking a deep gulp from his cup. “Hell has gotten to be absolutely ghastly with Satan always waging his little wars. He is such an insufferable _ass._ ”

I choke on my wine. In all my years in the seminary, I never expected someone to refer to the adversary of Christ with such informality.

Beelzebub leans across the table, staring at me attentively. “Let me tell you one this, Thomas. That holy book of yours has done us no favors. It only served to engorge Satan’s ego to the point where he thinks _he_ is the only one capable of controlling the kingdoms.”

My thirst for knowledge outweighs my fear, inciting me to interject. “Pardon me but during my education I was led to think that Hell was structured in nine circles, one above the other with Satan restrained in the middle.”

Both demons scoff. “If only. Then we would finally have some peace.”

“Are you saying Hell is continent that’s apportioned between demons?”

“Seven demons to be correct, my boy,” Beelzebub chimed in with a charming smile. “Each bestowed with a legion of lesser demons to rule.”

“If there are different parts of hell, what then becomes of the souls of sinners?”

Beelzebub shrugs. “I can’t speak for my other siblings, but the ones that wander into my dominion are free to drink and dine with me. Even though they are humans, they do have such fascinating stories. Of course, that’s once they quit weeping and cowering in fear.” I stare, uncertain that I ought to know the inner workings of Hell. If the Vatican ever managed to uncover of this radical information, the entire church would be in turmoil.

Beelzebub looks to the quietly lounging demon at the head of the table. “How do the human souls fare in your kingdom, Asmo?”

The sudden smirk that toys with the corners of Asmodeus’ mouth is a lecherous one. He looks at me from under his dark eyelashes. “None seem to complain about my subjects.”

 I’m thankful he doesn’t explain his riddle for I can already feel my cheeks start to blush.

“Well I am just thankful you came back when you did and cut Satan down to size. Maybe with you, Lucifer, and Mammon at the helm, you will finally put an end to his damnable ambition. Insurrections are so bloody exhausting.”

“You only say that because you no longer have a domain worth envying. You let it go to waste, my friend.”

“All the better!”

“You will be singing a different song when Satan finally makes his move and takes what is yours. Then where will you be?”

“Why, I’ll take refuge in your kingdom and let your delightful succubi fuck my brains out every night. But, as of right now, since my kingdom is still my own, I’d much rather spend my time drinking with the mortals than listen to my brothers squabble over custodianship. I will stay here, drink all your shitty wine, and then in a week I shall be terribly bored. How, then do you to you expect to entertain your most cherished off brothers, Asmo?”

I know it would be considered inappropriate to laugh so I bite my tongue and wait for the impolite urge to pass.

“Most gentlemen of this realm spend their time hunting.”

Beelzebub scowls. “I haven’t hunted in centuries.” Then he slaps the table as if electrified by a better idea. “You ought to throw a ball. Better yet a masque! Those are always amusing. You could invite the tiny little mortals of the village. Let them enjoy themselves for once before-oh what’s the miserable holiday coming up, priest?”

“Lent?”

“That’s the one,” Beelzebub says with a snap of his fingers. “They can enjoy themselves before Lent. You can show off this superb home of yours and we can forget about the terrible business in Hell for a moment. It would be the talk of the town for months!”

Asmodeus looks as if he is considering the possibility while I sit consumed with dread. “Beel, for being habitually intoxicated, you do propose some fantastic ideas.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is told from Asmodeus' pov.

The black clouds have been promising a magnificent storm the entire morning so when I feel the first siege of heavy raindrops I am not distraught. I have dealt with worse after all. At my side, Beelzebub howls and eggs his black mount into a wild gallop as the thunder snarls overhead. I follow my brother, eager to give into my wilder instincts after repressing them in this stifling society, and allow my mount to tear over the wet countryside. The freedom is exhilarating.  We charge across the meadows and hills on the backs of our demonic mounts. I’m foolish enough to think we are alone but when I spot a villager along the tree line, eager to escape wrath of the storm, I quickly corral my horse into a slower trot. I laugh to myself. I know that head full of blond curls from anywhere.

Beelzebub rejoins me, circling me impatiently while both he and his steed quake with untamable energy.

“Go on without me, Beel,” I tell him before urging my horse towards the woods where Thomas has disappeared.

In a flash, Beel resumes his mad dash and I seek out my timid little priest. The grove I enter is thick and overgrown but there is no trouble following Thomas’ bumbling path to an abandoned stone shed. Unattended to, a blanket of ambitious ivy covers the shed and offers protection from the storm as the windows and roof are completely ruined after years of neglect.  I dismount silently and led my horse to the weather-beaten door. I push it open carefully and smile when I see Thomas. Trembling from the cold and as tempting as ever, he sits on a bench with his hands tucked between his knees for warmth. His eyes are big and wondrously blue as he regards me with surprise and I am conscientious that my smile is a hospitable one.

“Good morning, Thomas,” I greet him amiably. “Lovely weather we are having.”

“Good morning,” he politely returns.

I turn my attention to my horse for a moment and gently nudge him away.

“Away with you, you great beast,” I murmur. He neighs quietly and leaves to forage through the underbrush before I step inside the damp, little hovel.

Thomas stares passed the doorway. He is either captivated by the enormous black creature or is completely disregarding my presence. I haven’t yet decided his frame of mind before he asks, “That’s not an ordinary horse, is it?”

I chuckle to myself as I settle next to him. “No, my dear. His name is called Sallos and he is my personal stead.”

While Thomas continues to watch the animal with a pensive frown, I spare the young man a quick glance. His face is a fascinating mix of chiseled beauty and thin-lipped masculinity that I cannot help but find very enticing. His curls make my fingers itch to touch and I love to watch those sincere blue eyes, especially when they darken in the throes of illicit passion. Suddenly I am bitterly reminded how long it has been since our escapade in his library and I recall with a great amount of fondness the love bite he bestowed upon me when he came in my hand.

Another romp is well overdue.

Though the urge to have Thomas is a perpetual desire that I am unwilling to ignore, I tread wisely because I have no wish to scare him. I am well aware how much I can manipulate him into another sordid deed but I have no need for his hatred nor do I want it. It’s much more rewarding to coax than to demand after all. So I sit and try to master my baser urges when Thomas speaks up again, “He is not wearing a saddle or bridle.”

“There is no need for I am not cruel master. Our trust in one other is absolute.”

It’s a delighted to see Thomas’ pallid cheek grow pink. While his innocence is endearing I am fond of upsetting his propriety.

He clears his throat and makes a worthy attempt at politer conversation. “And where is your brother?”

I shrug, uninterested in what has become of the irresponsible demon when I have Thomas all to myself in this little shelter but the boy stubbornly refuses to relinquish etiquette. “Out riding like a madman I suspect.”

“Won’t he become ill?”  His genuine concern is endearing and I find myself chuckling. “We are not as susceptible to sickness or disease like you mortals.”

“You look like a mortal.”

I tease him by brushing the back of my hand against his left one and he gasps, startled at how warm my flesh is despite the bitter chill in the air. Unconsciously, he wraps his long cold fingers around my hand and holds it secure in the lap as if trying to syphon some heat into his own cold flesh. Such impulsiveness is atypical of the priest but I am satisfied nonetheless.

“You’re so warm,” he murmurs.

 “It’s merely a guise, Thomas,” I explain, appreciating his inquisitiveness. For a priest in such a constricting period, his willingness to learn is unaffected. “But if it means you will be less frightened of me if you think me human then by all means continue to do so.”

“I won’t forget that,” Thomas counters, snatching his hands away to fold his arms over his chest. His spine is impossible erect and his handsome face set as he broods.

 “There’s no need to be so peevish, darling. I had hoped I have redeemed myself a little in your eyes since our first encounter.” I put my hand on his thigh and I can feel his muscles jump beneath my touch. He is ill at ease as he tries to ignore the brazen want that it starting to materialize with flagging self-control. My hand grazes higher up, my long fingers curling around the inside of his slim thigh, and I lean over to place long, languid kisses along his firm jawline until I am whispering into his ear, “Have I not treated you well, Thomas?”

It’s remarkable how easy it is for me to turn this blushing priest to a wanton lover with a little encouragement. His breath leaves him in a soft, shuddering rush as I reach the apex of his legs and feel his hardening cock. I rub slowly, coaxing his arousal further. Thomas is so speechless and flushed that I have the gall to wink at him. His closes his eyes, pale brow furrowed, as the battle inside his body wages.

 “What’s the matter, my dear? You seem awfully conflicted about something,” I muse quietly, brushing my lips against his neck. A hesitant groan filters through the air as my hand begins to massage more vigorously. For a priest he is wonderfully endowed and I intent to enjoy every inch of him. “Maybe it’s that you’re too polite to admit that you want me between your legs again.”

He gulps thickly, incapable of forming any kind of restraint. He is truly delightful as I touch him but it’s suddenly not enough. The need to fuck him is irresistible and I’m tired of waiting. I pull him the corner of the shed and press him into the hard stone wall. There is no mistake what I want to do to him and he is alarmed of my intentions even as he bites his lower lip and clutches the damp labels of my coat until his knuckles are white.

I trap his long legs between my own and cradle his head in my hands. He is entirely at my mercy and I know that he would have it no other way. I swallow his moan as I press my mouth against his and feel his thin body heave against mine. With a little persuasion, he parts his pink lips and I reduce his capacity to think with my tongue as my hands slip down his body to grab his thighs and haul him up as if he weighs nothing. He keens softly, his embrace tight, as I grind against him.

When I pull back he is panting and his blue eyes are unfocused. “Dear, sweet Thomas, you ought to know better than to be polite in my company. If you want my cock, tell me so.”

The poor thing blushes and looks away. It quite possible he has never let such crudeness pass his lips before but in the end that I what I am-a crude, lustful beast with a taste for the unspoiled.

Fright flashes in his eyes. “Are you quite sure we are alone?”

“Utterly,” I assure him, kissing his trembling lips once more. “Do not fret, Thomas, I’d kill anyone who would seek to sully your good name. Our bargain is a private one.”

It’s a struggle for Thomas to speak for some minutes. I amuse myself by nipping at his neck and digging my fingers into the meat of his ass as Thomas tries to muster some courage. When he does speak it’s in a quiet, deep whisper. “I-I do want you, Asmodeus.”

I groan and pepper his pale neck with kisses. He has omitted my favorite word but I remind myself that tiny steps will eventually lead you to your destination. Thunder crackles overhead as drop Thomas to his unsteady feet and turn him around. He goes obediently and rests his palms against the wet stone for purchase as I quickly rid him of unnecessary garments. It’s quick work to summon the balm needed to aid our deviant endeavor and I nuzzle his throat as my slick fingers slip between his pallid cheeks, seeking out the taut opening with the upmost gentleness. I want the boy eager and wanting when I take him. 

Thomas’ grunt sounds like a purr as my finger pushes inside him. Even if his mouth is prudish, his body is shameless. I take my time preparing him, slowly pressing in and out of his body until he is practically begging for more. I savor each tremble and soft, husky whimpers he desperately tries to repress as I ease another finger inside, stretching him as I wiggle them. My free hand slips around him to stroke his cock and his hips jerk forward, driving his length in and out of my fist.  It’s enough to make my chivalry falter. I force him around, slamming his bare back against the icy wall, and quickly undo my trousers. Just like the time in the library, his eyes close at the sight of my cock. I coat it generously before I drag his legs up and around my waist, his body once more pressed against the stone and my chest. I keep my arms under his thighs, forcing them up and out, as I pound into his ass. His panting, broken moan spurs me on, recklessly fueling my lust. Because he does nothing to dissuade me, I fuck him. Maybe my innocent little priest likes this more than he is willing to admit.

With every thrust I groan and bury myself in his impossibly tight and hot hole over and over while he writhes against me. His hands are vices in my hair and his desperation is thrilling. I slam into him, loving the feel of his taut muscles gripping my cock until my pleasure is ready to spill over. Only then do I drag him away from the wall and find a relatively dry mound of hay to finish the deed. The respite is enough to cool my head and I push into him slowly now and I am rewarded with a soft, indulgent moan. He welcomes me without reserve.

With my fingers pressed into the soft muscles of his thighs, I move between his legs. My thrusts remain deliberate as I gaze at the beautiful boy beneath me and wonder when did I become so besotted by this guileless, young man? Distracted by his own pleasure, he doesn’t realize how lovely he looks slack-jawed and flushed, absolutely ripe for the taking. I begin to fuck him harder when I realize my sweet boy only has a few moments of lucidity left. Slipping a hand between our restless bodies, I pump his hard, wet cock to coerce his inevitable climax. It makes him seize, his legs tremble against my waist and his golden head snaps back to offer his long white throat to my teeth. I bite the tantalizing flesh, growling, as the pressure of his tightening body forces my own end.

For a moment I let my bliss overwhelm me even as I ride out the last vestiges of my orgasm until I grow too soft to do so. I slump against the hot, trembling body beneath me, sated for now. Thomas is wonderfully biddable as I worship his neck and chest while he struggles to regain some sense of cognizance his orgasm seems to have rob him of. Not that I mind of course. I enjoy this little moment before my darling human remembers himself and pushes me away.

I’m honestly surprised when Thomas cleaves to me even tighter and murmurs, “Forgive me but I am cold,” against my neck.

My carelessness is enough to make me wince and I kiss my apologies into his flaxen curls. He sits, shivering on the old hay in his goose pimpled flesh, and watches as I summon his clothes with curious eyes. The humble garments are pathetically damp but with a gentle shake, they are dry once more. 

“Here,” I murmur as I offer him his clothes as I place a hand on his shoulder, removing the evidence of our diversion as subtly as possible. The enchantment makes Thomas shiver and if he figures out what I have done he does not show it as he takes his dry clothes. I am shameless as I wish his dress and he blushed warmly. When he spares me a glance I smile at him and say, “You’ve got hay in your hair.”

That makes him frown and seek out the slivers of brittle grass. I chuckle, pull him back down onto the pile beside me, and sort him out. He is quiet as I work. Before too long all the hay is gone but I still myself distracted by the coiling locks and since he makes no attempt to discourage me, I continue to play. Outside the shed the rain continues to fall in angry swells.

“Best not to go out in this weather, Thomas,” I murmur. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if you became ill.”

Thomas nods quietly and endures my company without protests while we wait for the storm to subside.


	6. Chapter 6

Two weeks after my impromptu dinner with the demons I am heading to my library, refreshed from my daily walk. I have every intention to spend the afternoon hard at work but the extravagantly wrapped present sitting in the middle of my desk gives me pause. Ever since dinner with Asmodeus and his brother, I have spent every day praying that the impetuous demons had forgotten all about the masked ball as they gallivanted across the countryside. Now I know I was wrong pray for the impossible.

Dread knots my stomach as I open the accompanying red envelope first. To my dismay the letter turns out to be a formal invitation to Asmodeus’ masked fete tomorrow evening. I scoff and toss the letter aside. There is no place for a man of God amongst revelers, especially a week before the somber start of the Lenten season.

I then turn my attention to the box. It’s beautifully wrapped and I pick at the ribbon delicately before my curiosity overwhelms me. I untie it and slide the lid off. Inside, nestled in a cushion of garish crimson silk is a glossy black mask. I press my lips together to hold my irritation at bay. I snap the lid back down, determined to forget the summons altogether.

“Oh, I see you received Mr. Lewis’ letter,” Mrs. Ashby says as she steps inside library, a tray of tea in her hands. “I must say that the village is extremely excited for the ball.”

I look up, frowning thoughtfully. “Do you not think it strange for a priest to be present at something like this?”

She laughs as she places the tray down on the only uncluttered spot on the desk. “I must admit it is a little unconventional but surely the Lord will not be displeased if you go for an hour or so. Mr. Lewis respects you so much. I’m sure it would be very meaningful to him if you attend.”

I would prefer to be there for less than that but I have a feeling my attendance will be required for the entirety of the evening.

 

* * *

 

The following night I stave off the ball for as long as I am able to.  I know that I am testing Asmodeus unnecessarily but I am willing to suffer the consequences if it means showing him that I am not a willing accomplice in his game. It’s nearing nine at night before I begin to feel the familiar, unpleasant tug within my chest and I can no longer avoid my fate.

I have dressed somberly on purpose with the mask firmly tied in place. I will not allow my parishioners to see me but I have the feeling that my hair will give me away. I am truly shocked to find that he has not come to collect me so take my time rambling over the green hills towards the refurbished manor, relishing my dwindling freedom.

The ball is flourishing as I step inside the mansion. The music is quite lively and the crowd is pleasant and jubilant in their finery and playful masks. It is difficult for me to recognize anyone, but a few nod at me, and I can only smile back politely. I wander throughout the first floor, distracted and overwhelmed by the beguiling sights. I am inexperienced with such extreme extravagance and I am captivated in the dazzling atmosphere despite my better judgment.

There is dancing in the stifling main ballroom. The candlelight shimmers on the young ladies taffeta gowns as the young couples step to the spirited music. A young woman in a deep blue gown appears at my side. Her small hand at my elbow draws my attention.

“You will dance with me?” She is oddly nonchalant in spite of the merry crowd around us. She is far shorter than I am, barely reaching my shoulders and even though an elaborate mask hides half her face I can tell that she is beautiful. The candlelight reflects off her glossy black hair and makes her eyes shine like pearls.

I gape a moment. Her forwardness is unusual for a young lady but I’m sure she must be enjoying the wine too much. “I am very sorry, miss,” I say as gently as possible, “but I do not dance.”

She cocks her head, clucks disappointingly with her tongue, before capering off with a youth. They are roughly the same size and are similarly dressed which leads me to believe that they might be siblings. Together the strange pair disappears into the crowd and I don’t see them again.

Unsettled by the encounter, I depart and eventually find myself in the dining room. It’s full with many long tables that are laden with both traditional as well as exotic delicacies. The smell is quiet delicious and I cannot stop myself from picking up a small cream puff from the decadent table of pudding. Like the rest of the house this room is overly crowded as well and I eventually seek refuge on an empty balcony. There is an enormous garden down below and I can hear the chime of ladies’ laughter emerging from a stone gazebo across the way. I pop the sweet into my mouth, enjoying the excessively sweet cream far too much as I welcome both the cooling night air and the peace of my own company.

Distracted by the huge moon hanging low in the sky, a tall figure suddenly appears at my side. I visibly jump, gasping in fright, as the man laughs amiably. Despite the beautiful red mask covering his face I know he is Asmodeus. He is exquisitely dressed and carries himself with regal grace while I scowl at him, ignoring the plate of sweets and the cup of wine he presents.

“I was beginning to wonder if you were coming,” he says. If my tardiness has provoked him, he does not show it. 

“I didn’t want to,” I admit, begrudgingly taking the offerings. “It’s very inappropriate.”

Asmodeus smirks, one corner of his generous mouth turning upwards. “No one can tell it’s you. Relax and just enjoy yourself for once, my darling Thomas.”

I sigh into my cup as I take a sip of the wine to calm my nerves. I can never truly be untroubled in his presence, knowing how much control he has over me. The drink is remarkably sweet, almost like punch, and I am surprised by how much I enjoy it. “This is quite good,” I murmur.

The demon laughs gently and I have to suppress a shudder when I feel his hand on the small of my back. He leans down and his lips brush the vulnerable patch of skin just under my ear. My guard is immediately up again but I can’t make myself rebuke the touch either. It’s indecently pleasing. My eyelids flutter downward as his lips caress my skin, glad that the darkness of the night is shrouding us from prying eyes.

“Just be careful,” he purrs softly. “Beel’s wine is quite potent.”

With another languid kiss, Asmodeus disappears and I am left utterly bewildered. I am unused to such flirtation and drink more sweet wine to bolster my frayed nerves.

“Ah! Enjoying the wine, then?” Beelzebub’s entrance is quite conventional and walks across the balcony to join me at my side.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome, my dear boy. It took me centuries to perfect it.”

I smile. Unlike Asmodeus, it’s very easy to forget that Beelzebub is a demon. More laughter is heard from below and my companion is looking over the balcony, a grin on his face. “Seems like those ladies are enjoying the wine a bit too much,” he says as he wanders towards the staircase that leads down into the garden. “I’ll see if I can offer them my assistance.”

I am left on my own for the rest of the night and end up drinking more than I had expected until my head is swimming and my vision is blurry. Though the ball is a beautiful thing to watch, I feel like an outsider and lonesomeness in my heart steadily builds. I had honestly not expected for Asmodeus to leave me be.

The evening moves on. The older guests depart, leaving behind the younger generation to their foolishness. I eventually wonder up the main staircase to the second floor, startled when I spy various couples intimately involved in one another. I ignore them as much as I can and press on through the expansive estate.

It isn’t until I find Asmodeus that I realize he has been my target all along. I stand in the doorway of a large bedchamber and I can make out his large form in the glimmer of the slowly burning candles. He looks quite comfortable as he sits in a chair, leisurely drinking from a goblet, but his focus is entirely fixated on the bed. There within the shadows of the curtains lithe, half-naked bodies grind over the silken bedcovers and fill the air with sweet, breathy moans. I slowly realize that there are more couples dawdling about the room, making love despite the appalling lack of privacy. I ought to be shocked at such perversion but the wine has ruined my inhibitions. I am equivocally aroused but I remain rooted where I am until Asmodeus becomes aware of my interruption.

He turns his face, his eyes flashing eerily in the candlelight, and beckons me with a curl of his finger, a king within his dominion. I blush, mortified that I have been caught, but nevertheless my legs move me until I am standing in front of the demon. He has removed his opulent coat and his startling white cravat is untied and hangs in ribbons down his chest. His attractive form is so large and elegant in his rumpled finery and my eyes sweep downwards on their own accord to see that between his powerful thighs there is a rather prominent bulge.

I swallow heavily as my own rampant desire stirs my cock. I can feel Asmodeus’ fiery gaze upon my face but he does not speak and I make sure not to look up. He seems content to stare, to contemplate my shameless intention in his drunken haze without a snarky retort that would surely shake me from my stupor.

I sink to my knees in front of him, my palms roaming up his large thighs to unfasten the ivory buttons of his trousers. He is hard and hot beneath my fingers and he offers an indulgent groan as I free him from the rigidity of his clothes. My heart stumbles in my chest and my fingers shake as I touch him, gingerly running my fingertips along his erection as if mesmerized by the size and warmth of him before I begin to pump it firmly.

His voice rumbles low and rough in his throat and his legs widen as I caress him. When I crawl closer to bathe the tip of his cock with my tongue, he groans and buries an unsteady hand in my golden curls, cradling my head, while the other one clings onto the arm of the chair. I part my lips and take the blushing crown inside my mouth and suck gently. I nurse the head, mingling saliva and the salty liquid seeping from his slit within my mouth as I lap at the smooth, hard flesh indulgently. I hold his thighs for purchase. In a moment of pure wickedness I explore the sensitive opening with the tip of my tongue and the hand in my hair fists, pulling my curls unpleasantly hard.

“Tease,” Asmodeus groans with a breathless laugh. It’s a struggle for him to release my tresses and then his hand is once more at the back of my head, long elegant fingers coaxing me forward. “Can you take more, my dear?”

Ignoring the other people in the room, I give into temptation and swallow as much of him as I can. My only thoughts are of Asmodeus, his bewitching scent, and the hot, hard cock filling my mouth. His groan of pleasure is my only reward as I worship him. I pull back slowly, my cheeks hallowing as my tongue caresses the underside, before reclaiming him.

Asmodeus breath comes out in a shuddering rush and his hand clenches around the arm, nails digging into the leather. I suck until my jaw is aching and my lips slowly become parched but I don’t have any desire to stop anytime soon despite my own desperately aching need.

“A little faster and you will undo me,” he murmurs thickly.

I comply and before I can prepare myself, his grip is painful as he holds my head still. I chock as his cock surges forward, continuously impaling me with quick deep thrust until his seed fills my mouth and rushes down my throat. I gasp as I break free, mouth sodden with mixture of saliva and spunk as my lungs burn for air.  Asmodeus laughs quietly from his chair, struggling to recuperate, and he pulls me into his lap. Obediently, I wrap my arms around his neck and straddle his lap.

His large hands hold onto my waist, his fingers pressing into my body, as he crushes his lips against my own. I moan softly and hold on tight.

“Shall I return the favor?”

Despite the vulgarity and the other people in the room (who are still very preoccupied) I can only nod, ready to put an end to my restless desire and find some peace. He continues to kiss me, nipping my lower lip and whispering filth, as his hand slips under the waistband of my trousers to stroke me until I come, whimpering into his mouth.

The world is a daze beyond that and I wake up in a different room, buried under a mound of plush blankets in the middle of a large bed. It takes a lengthy moment to register that I am naked and the man lying next to me is quite awake. I frown, heavy-eyed and drunk, as Asmodeus tenderly plays with my chaotic curls, wrapping a lock around and around his index finger before releasing it.

His smile is gentle as he says, “I hope you can forgive me this but I thinks it’s best that you stay the night. You drank a lot of wine, Thomas.”

I nod, content to go back to sleep in the luxurious cocoon, but too soon Asmodeus is pulling me into an embrace that I have no wish to resist. He wraps his arms tightly around me, and my body fits against his like a piece of a puzzle. His kisses are long and languid. I moan softly atop him, full of slowly burning desire, and bury my hands in his dark hair. It’s only when I feel him grasping the meat of my backside, rubbing my groin firmly against his that my indolent contentment is replaced with want.

Even if I put the blame solely on the devilish wine, I still have no reasoned to be so quickly aroused by Asmodeus unless I’m truly starting to enjoy this depravity. He gives me no chance to ponder those sobering thoughts as he joins me under the covers. Our reunion is a frenzy of desperate limbs and long, soft grunts as he overturns me. I kiss him with greedy passion and wrap my legs about his waist without any inhibition. His hot wicked tongue dominates the kiss as he moves his clothed form against me and makes me moan from the friction he creates against my bare skin. I can only moan and cling to him, canting my hips to rub his hard cock against mine.

“Well, isn’t this a pretty picture,” a familiar voice floats into the bedroom. I pull away, my lungs burning, to see that Beelzebub is standing in the doorway with a glass of wine in his hands. Instead of being angry over the interruption, Asmodeus takes it at an opportunity to nuzzle my exposed neck. I want to be offended. I feel like I ought to be offended at the intrusion but I lose sight of the other demon as my eyes close voluntarily when I am lost once more in Asmodeus’ touch.

“Care to cut loose a little more, my dear?” Asmodeus asks, his breath ghosting against my hot skin.

His voice jogs me from my thoughts. Before my mind can process anything, I find myself blindfolded. A startled gasp parts my lips and instantly my hands reach up to finger the cloth that has been tied over my eyes. For a moment I am unsure and I can feel panic cut through my arousal.

“Relax, Thomas,” Asmodeus reassures gently, kissing my lips, while his hands slowly caress down my body. His fingers brush my neck lightly. Then his mouth follows to suckling at the hollow there, before slipping farther south. A hand slips between my legs. A louder groan rumbles in my throat when I feel a slick finger press inside, deep and firm. I tense, gasping, thoroughly shocked by how good I now find that wicked sensation to be. Then it is pulled out and Asmodeus spends an exorbitant about of time toying with the puckered ring of muscles as well as my perineum indulgently. 

My shy hands find Asmodeus’ shoulders and I squeeze them hard as he gently pleasures me. My legs hitch up higher, displaying more sensitive flesh for him to exploit. Asmodeus is kind enough to give in to my needs and his fingers are once again thrusting inside me, curling slightly to graze that sensitive spot at makes another groan rip through my throat. Instantly I hook an arm around his neck, hauling him closer so I am able to sink my teeth into his neck. Asmodeus’ fingers begin to fuck me even harder.

“He seems to enjoy whatever you are doing to him,” I can hear Beelzebub tease over my whimpering.

Then Asmodeus is moving away from me and it’s like a gust of cold air. I bite my lips and whine quietly, stunned at the loss of contact that my body is so desperately wanting.  I hear the bed clothes shift around me, followed by the quick shuffle of clothes as they are stripped and abandoned on my floor. My tongue darts out, the tip licking my swollen lips. Without the use of my eyes, I can only dwell in a state of apprehension and depend heavily upon my hearing.

Left alone now, I have no wish to let my intoxicating want ebb away from me and reach down to stroke my cock when a large hand engulfs mine firmly. Quickly both of my hands are hauled up and held captive above my head.

“That’s not allowed tonight, my dear,” Asmodeus taunts as he places a kiss on my brow.

“You’re being unreasonable,” I shoot back with half-hearted anger and then I feel two hot, solid bodies surround mine. The touch returns between my legs, probing gently, distracting me. I moan, let my legs fall apart, and squeeze Asmodeus’ hands tightly. That gives me a pause and I finally understand my situation.

Revulsion makes me want to jump off the bed but Asmodeus’ grip is unrelenting. I dig my nails deep into his skin in retaliation. I’m tempted to kick Beelzebub as well when Asmodeus nuzzles my neck, encouraging only arousal as he whispers dark, vulgar things. I am no match for the demons and succumb.

“He’s so tight,” Beelzebub groans. Despite his drunkenness, he is a careful lover and I begin to relax under his attention. My entrance is nothing but a playground for greedy, eager fingers as my cock lies heavy and forgotten against my abdomen. He touches me like Asmodeus did, teasing and playing with my sensitive flesh for the most part and exciting my desire until I’m wild with want. Another finger enters me and my skin burns as it is strained unnaturally. Eventually I loose count of how many digits are inside me and that thought alone almost undoes me.

“He plays the part of a priest well,” Asmodeus murmurs against my neck, “but press the right buttons and he’s a whore in bed.” A finger expertly seeks out that sensitive spot inside me and exploits it. I can’t stop moaning, and I slide my legs up, dig my heels into the bed for leverage, and I ride the demons’ fingers.

“Oh, he makes a lovely whore.”

“A greedy one, too,” Asmodeus replies, gently nipping at my neck.

It’s easy far to get lost in all the sensations. I can feel the demons move against me, pressing their hard cocks into my feverish skin as they make me squirm from pleasure. I slip my hands from Asmodeus’ grip and fill my hands with their impressive lengths. I pump slowly, suddenly distracted by the low-pitched groans that reverberate around the room, but I don’t stop. The demons rut into my limp fists while the wicked fingers probing me quicken unmercifully.

I gasp, slack-jawed, longing for more but not sure how to ask for it.

“What’s wrong, darling? Is this not enough to satisfy you?”

The ‘no’ I breathe out is steeped in frustration.

“Let me remedy that then.”

 As the ring leader, Asmodeus is the one who positions me until I am on my hands and knees. It’s disorientating and I grip the bedclothes for purchase. His large hands settle on my hips, steadying me even more, as anticipation hotly licks at my gut when I feel his heavy cock brush against my crevice.

“Is this what you want?”

I tremble. This time I’m ready and willing for him to fuck me. “Yes!”

“That’s it.”

I feel one of his hands skim up my spine to grasp a handful of my hair. I cry out as he yanks my head back in one smooth, rough movement.

“Open your mouth, Thomas.”

When I don’t immediately follow the order, he repeats himself, tugging my hair even harder for emphasize. I give in hesitantly and flinch when I feel something hard and smooth brush against my lips.

“Wider, darling, or I won’t fuck you.”

I comply, recoiling when I feel Beelzebub’s cock fill my mouth. My hands claw at the bedclothes.

“Oh, good boy,” Asmodeus moans, rubbing his cock against my ass. “Now suck.”

His hand leaves my hair when I shyly submit, pulling back a little in favor of the sensitive crown. I am fortunate that he is not as big as Asmodeus. I suck diligently, tasting the salty fluid as I bob my head and enjoy Beelzebub’s quiet, breathy sighs before Asmodeus mounts me. In one fluid snap of his hips, he is buried inside me. He continues to move without respite. I expect the worst kind of pain but there is nothing but animalist pleasure as he claims me. I’m caught between two strong bodies, my own rocking like a boat lost amongst the ocean waves, until Beelzebub grabs the back of my head, rendering me still, turning my mouth into just another humid hollow to be ravished as he repeatedly forces his cock deeper.

Such aggression ought to have sickened me but my desire is only intensified. I moan around the thick, throbbing muscle, both my mouth and throat raw from overuse and swallow obediently when I feel his seed shoot down my throat in quick hot spurts.

He lets me go and I collapse onto the bed, panting, my arms too weak to bare my weight any longer. With nothing but my backside in the air, Asmodeus takes full advantage of the situation and begins to pound into me with. I cry out from the roughness. Pain is threatening to ruin my haze of pleasure and suddenly I’m ready for him to finish. I don’t know how much longer I can withstand such treatment.

“Asmo,” I begin to plead, my voice brittle. My hand is already on my cock, stroking steadfastly to bring an end to my ruinous desire. Baited for so long, my orgasm is almost instantaneous and I have to bite into the bedclothes to stifle my wanton moan. Asmodeus’ sinuous movements shudder as my body tenses around his length. He presses uncomfortably far into my bruised entrance and then he is coming with a primal groan, riding out the remainder of his orgasm with quick, deep thrusts until he is finally sated.

My euphoria as made me as docile as a lamb and I find myself tucked into Asmodeus side. He removes the blindfold gently and tosses it onto the floor.  I glance around, scowling until my vision is no longer blurry, and see that Beelzebub is in a drunken slumber besides us. Asmodeus reclaims my attention as he tilts my face up with a finger under my chin. The gentleness and worry I see in his face is unanticipated.

“I got a little carried away,” he whispers.

I’m a sore and I suspect it will be even worse in the morning but right now the only thing I care about is sleep. “We will have words in the morning,” I murmur with as much firmness I am able to muster. “And I’m not a whore.”

He chuckles softly and kisses my brow. “I know that, my sweet. It was only said to increase your pleasure. It’s a common bedroom practice.” I’m on the cusp of believing him before I realize I’m too tired to think straight. I burrow against him and use his shoulder as a makeshift pillow. “Just like fingering your lover’s ass for half an hour alongside your brother. It’s completely ordinary.”

I kick him then, my face hot as coals. He only laughs and wraps his strong arms around me. I truly want to resist the embrace but the moment he starts petting my hair I lose the battle. Resigned, I slumps against him and start to doze off.

 

* * *

 

Morning finds me drowsing in a bathtub full of bubbly, perpetually hot water. The wine from the night before clouds my mind like a heavy fog and my body is embarrassingly tender and achy so I am content to sleep away the rest of the wine’s legacy with my head against the lip of the tub for now. It has been a quiet, uneventful morning with no one but the silent Maurice to keep me company.

“I didn’t expect you to still be here, darling.”

Asmodeus’ voice rouses me from my stupor. I look up and see him beaming in the threshold he looks too large to occupy. He looks magnificent in his riding clothes. However my lethargy returns with the exasperating headache and I am forced to put my head back down.

I hear him stride across the room, his smart boots clicking on the checkered marble floor and I’m very glad that that bubbles are so opaque because I don’t have the decency or the strength to be prudent. When I feel fingers run through my curls, I open my eyes slowly and find Asmodeus grinning down at me.

“Are you going to spend all day in here, Thomas?”

I’m too proud to pout. When Maurice had woken me that morning my first instinct was to slip back to my house as quickly as possible. However, when he told me there was a bath had been prepared and that Asmodeus and Beelzebub had gone riding, I decided it would do my reputation so damage if I stayed to clean up a bit.

 “It’s a possibility.”

“It’s almost ten. Aren’t you hungry?” The fingers remain in my hair, massaging my tender scalp gently until I’m closing my eyes and leaning into the touch.

“Not right now.”

“Will you allow me to wash your hair then, my dear?”

I consent with a sloppy shrug. Asmodeus leaves a moment to collect a pitcher from the side table. Like the water in the bath, the water in the pitcher is still wonderfully warm. I sit forward with my long legs close to my chest, my head tilted back, and let the demon pour the water over my head. His fingers are exceedingly gentle when he rubs soap into my curls. It smells of lavender, lulling into an even deeper daydream until he locates an overly tender part of my scalp. I am awake almost immediately.

“Can you rub right there?” There has been a terrible ache in the back of my skull all morning and it disturbs me that I don’t know from what. Actually I have a difficult time recalling any of the fine details of the night before after Asmodeus left me on the balcony.

“Here?” Asmodeus sits on the lip of the tub and kneads the spot gingerly.

“Yes.” I’m quiet a long moment, too preoccupied by the pleasant massage, before I realize that I had a question that needed to be asked. “Did I fall last night?”

“Fall?”

“Yes. My head has ached all morning there but I cannot fathom why it would.”

“Do you wish for me to inform you of all your sordid misconduct last night?” Asmodeus sounds as if he would like nothing better than to tell me just how much the wicked wine affected me. By the way my body aches, I’m certain that I did one activity I do not approve of. I blush and vow to never drink again. “Rest assured, Thomas. You were very willing and we took wonderful care of you.”

I sit up as if I had been electrocuted and though my battered body protests greatly I cannot bring myself to take care. “We? What do you mean _we_?”

For a moment Asmodeus looks sheepish and I can only glare, both affronted and incredulous.

“I told you the wine was potent, my dear.”


	7. Chapter 7

When Mrs. Ashby’s returns from her daily errands, she carries with her a letter addressed to me.  She raps politely on the door of my study before she enters, cheerful and bright-eyed from the gusty spring breeze, and says with a smile, “You’re received a letter, Father.”

Both the handwriting and address are familiar and I am met with a sudden surge of wistfulness. I am not expecting such a luxury for I have come to accept, through trial and error, that the post to and from Cotswold is shamefully haphazard. “Thank you, Mrs. Ashby. It’s from my brother.”

Delights makes the older woman’s eyes twinkle. “Well, I won’t keep you then,” she says, exiting the room. “Luncheon will be served shorty, sir.”

When am alone once more, I forsake my bookkeeping in favor of the sudden message with an ecstatic heart. While Matthew is several years my senior, we have always been extremely close and I am eager for his correspondence. The expertly pinned message, however, is a harrowing one. 

_16 th of May, 1841_

_Dearest Thomas,_

_While I hope this letter finds you well, I must, with a heavy heart, inform you of some unhappy news. A sennight ago, Mama’s constitution has suffered due to her habitually weak heart. While I have been with our parents in the hopes that my companionship and care will revive her, Dr. Marlow informs me that, while Mama’s condition is consistent now, she remains very weak. My dearest, while I scruple to burden you with this sad incident, I believe it would be very wise of you to make arrangements to come to London as soon as you are able._

_Sincerely,_

_Matt_

The foreboding message leaves me with a hollow pit in my stomach. Though I wish very much for the ability to ride the train to London that very afternoon, I know I cannot give into the temptation. As a priest, I must never abandon my post without first seeking the permission of the Archbishop. Feeling helpless and dispirited, I contrive to compose my reply the moment I am able to master my distress.

My pallid and grime exterior enlightens Mrs. Ashby that the letter contained unfortunate tidings when I come to luncheon but she does not pry nor does she interrupt my brooding with cheerful reassurance. Eventually the quiet afternoon dwindles into a gloomy evening as I linger in the mindset that my dear Mama, who has never enjoyed the benefit of a stout constitution, might finally succumb to her ailment while I have no means to visit her, positioned as I am hundreds of miles away. I am thoroughly downhearted with a head-ache fast approaching when Mrs. Ashby takes her leave after dinner. Alone, I am enticed to employ liquor so that my burden might be eased but the brandy remains untouched within my glass as I peer inattentively into the fireplace.

I do not notice that Asmodeus has appeared like a ghost in the shadows of the parlor until he speaks. “Well, what’s the matter?” I look over at him, more offended than startled that he has intruded upon my grief and pompously demanded to know my mind. His sigh is thunderous, his eyes exasperated, as he slowly steps into the warm firelight. “Might as well as tell me, Thomas. It’s written all over your face.”

For a moment I wonder what would happen if I retreated further inside my reticent dejection and refused Asmodeus. I would certainly retain some dignity before the truth is wrung from my lips. If I did as I was commanded, however, it would feel as though my mother’s fate would be definite and I do not think I could stop from weeping at the thought of her probable passing.

Preserving my silence, I pull my letter from my breast pocket and hand it to the demon without looking at him. “You may read this,” I allow in a stiff, hard voice.

He is careful when he takes the offering. Silence reigns while he peruses its contents and I am reduced to sniffling and blinking my damp eyes, rigidly holding onto my superficial equanimity. Then Asmodeus is folding the letter up and handing it back to me, purposefully keeping my hand in his when I try to retrieve it. His eyes are contrite but I cannot tolerate such a pitying air and turn my eyes towards the fire once more.

“Is your mother often ill?”

“Mama’s health has never been hardy and as she ages she is more disposed to spasms,” I reply weakly. “It’s probably a spell and nothing more. Matthew and Papa will arrange for her to retire to Bath once she is fit enough to travel and all will be well.”

Asmodeus is kind enough not to comment on my trembling shoulders as he bends to kiss the top of my head.

 

* * *

 

Asmodeus strides into Belphegor’s dark, unkempt palace with purpose. Smiling with amusement, he finds both his younger brothers in the midst in an inequitable game of cards with the aid several branches of candles, the little flames illuminating the squalor of a once magnificent chamber with little very little kindness. He knows that the small pile of trinkets and gold steeped in front of Belphegor is a sure sign that his fiercely intelligent mind is taking advantage of Beelzebub’s intemperance and interrupts the game before the drunkard is thoroughly bankrupt.

“I dare say you are making a cake of yourself whenever you playing into Belphegor’s games, Beel,” Asmodeus chides with a grin. Belphegor sighs and glares at the approaching demon scornfully; long centuries have worn away any scrap of veneration he ought to hold for his older siblings so the disruption merely incites his displeasure. Asmodeus’ amusement deepens as he runs a hand through Beelzebub’s wild locks before gripping the black curls between his horns and wrenching the demon’s head back playfully. “You know he is cheating, don’t you?”

Beelzebub’s answering smirk is crooked, his eyes hazed, but he is not offended by Asmodeus’ imperiousness. “Course I do, brother, but that doesn’t signify. I will win one day, Belphegor. Just you wait.”

Asmodeus releases his brother and joins the princes on the floor, partaking of the abundant and delicious wine that Beel was so kind to provide. Ages ago Belphegor did own several chairs and possibly a sofa but they have long vanished beneath piles of books, crumpled pieces of paper, clothes, blankets, and discarded jewels that would make Mammon envious of the precious collection that Belphegor has so purposefully slighted.

“I won’t hold my breath,” Belphegor murmurs and begins to collect the tatty cards. There is no point in persisting with the game when Asmodeus is resolved to stay.  “What do you want, Asmo?” Out of all the demon princes, he is by far the smallest with an impish face, a head of unruly curls that shroud his diminutive faun-like horns and a closet full of slovenly attire that only work to undercut his prestigious authority.

“A favor, my dear,” Asmodeus declares complacently like one accustomed to having his orders obeyed with the utmost compliance.

“No.”

The ill-mannered candidness of the rejection erodes Asmodeus’ affability and his handsome face suddenly darkens with a contemptuous scowl. “Belphegor.”

The young imp raises his eyes to Asmodeus, a mischievous smirk trifling with his lips. “No, _sir_.”

Asmodeus’ displeasure is dropped and his mantle of charm in once again firmly fastened into place. “Oh, don’t be so pigheaded. I am in need of your aid.”

“Do tell, Asmo,” Beel encourages, tossing off his cup of wine.

“There is a matter that needs attending to and it will take me away from Cotswold. I find that it’s necessary for Belphegor to be there at my home while I’m gone.”

If Beelzebub looks intrigued, Belphegor could not look more disinterested in his brother’s affairs.

“That’s very a very odd situation,” Beelzebub comments. “I would love very much to look after your estate since Belphegor is content to be petulant. Tell me, Asmo, will Thomas be there in Cotswold or are you taking him with you?”

“He will be there and that’s precisely why I didn’t come to you.”

Beelzebub’s eyes flash with rascality. “Don’t trust me?”

“Of course not, darling,” Asmodeus admits with a mocking grin. “You’re very charming and will fox the poor lad on purpose. Besides I need you with me. How do you expect me to go to London alone?”

“What business do you have there?”

“It’s a very delicate situation.”

Beelzebub laughs at the thought of kicking up a lark with his brother in the bustling metropolis. It has been an age since he visited the notorious gaming halls since he had not felt any inkling to run amuck gambling when Asmo had been absent. Belphegor, however, rolls his eyes and looks surly. “I own that I do miss that decade of quiet when the pair of you did not engage in such loud shenanigans,” he complains.

“So, you will do me this one favor?”

“I suppose,” Belphegor concedes with a heavy sigh, far too tired to be defiant for long. Besides he finds the source of Asmodeus’ behavior to be quite intriguing. His brother was far too proud to ask for the aid of others. “What would you have me do?”

“Merely pretend to be me and keep an eye on Thomas while I’m gone,” Asmo informs with an air of poorly executed nonchalance. “One never knows when unsavory relatives will show up unannounced and I fear the lad is quite green.”

While Belphegor continues to appear unenthusiastic of the idea of posturing about in his brother’s shoes but he glances covertly at Beelzebub, amazed to discover that the profligate Asmo is suffering the consequences of infatuation for once. The younger brothers’ eyes lock for a moment and Beelzebub grins over the rim of his cup. Belphegor could laugh if he had the desire to summon the energy. Instead he looks back at Asmo, delight twinkling in his eyes, and casually inquires the duration of the charade.

Asmo shrugs. “No more than a day or so.”

“I dare say I can pull that off,” Belphegor concedes, shuffling his beloved cards. “Does Thomas play faro?”

 

* * *

 

“Now, this atmosphere is invigorating,” Beelzebub declares as he alights from the splendid chaise and onto the bustling street, dressed with the flamboyancy of a dandy in a plum frockcoat over a floral waistcoat with his cravat tied in a gaudy fashion at his throat.  His eyes are bright with mischief as he surveys his surroundings. “Can you feel all this stuffy humanity just itching to cut loose a little?”

“Yes, well, that will have to wait, my dear,” Asmodeus rebuffs as he joins Beelzebub in the clamor of daily life within the metropolis. While his exquisitely tailored attire fits his powerful frame like a glove, it is decidedly more discreet than his brother’s. Midday finds London a very busy city, brimming with well-dressed men and tired-looking workers moving quickly to and from work while ladies take advantage of the balmy weather and stroll about in lovely dresses as pretty as a picture. Asmodeus grabs his brother’s arm before Beelzebub’s attention is captured and together they stroll down the avenue towards the rows of neatly kept townhomes of London’s upper middleclass.

Both demons are crafty creatures and have come to London fully prepared to slip in and out of the unsuspecting home with very little fanfare. Asmodeus had memorized the address on the front of the letter the second he had the right to hold the precious document so he knew exactly where he was going.  Beelzebub had been assigned to locate Dr. Marlow and after careful investigation the man turned out to be the personal physician of the Hiddlestons and was calling on the house every day at two in the afternoon to examine his patient, a kindhearted, soft-spoken woman with sympathetic green eyes and a fragile body.

It’s nearing the desired time when Asmodeus and Beelzebub cross the doctor’s path in front of the chain of impeccably kept terraced houses. They succeed in bewitching the man in very little time. It’s a simple task guiding the fool into an empty alleyway, away from prying eyes, where Beelzebub holds the middle-aged man upright for Asmodeus. Possession was an artful trick, employed mainly for amusement or to alleviate the boredom of living for thousands of years, but there was no enjoyment in Asmodeus’ eyes when his hands firmly cup the doctor’s face. Murmuring the necessary incantation, the doctor’s body shuddered violently when the demon enters it before sagging towards the ground.

“Stand up now,” Beelzebub mocks with a gentle laugh. “There’s a good chap.”  

“I haven’t done this for ages,” Asmodeus complains, trying to get accustomed to his new but short-lived cage despite the nausea that’s churning his stomach. “God, this will be tedious, Beel.”

“Nonsense. Merely linger at the edge of his consciousness while he does all the work. When the time comes, take over then retreat and the good doctor will be none the wiser,” Beelzebub says blithely as he hands Asmodeus the doctor’s large leather satchel. “No harm, no foul, dear brother.”

When a young maid of the household opens the door, it’s very much the pompous doctor whom she has the privilege to usher inside and up to Mrs. Hiddleston private apartments on the second floor. 

“No one is here to receive you, sir, but I was told to show you to Mrs. Hiddleston immediately,” the maid says.

Asmodeus heads his brother’s advice and keeps his presence generally unknown to his vessel or anyone else he encounters. To ward off boredom, he views his surroundings and it quite surprised by what he sees. He never would have speculated that his humble, little priest who was content to serve an unknown hamlet came from such an affluent family. While his lineage did not spring from old money, the patriarch of the family no doubt endeavored to make his family comfortable.

He finds Mrs. Hiddleston reposing on her bed, sheltered beneath thick blankets. Her breath is soft and shallow and her skin is as white as the cap that covers her pale curls. Asmodeus sighs when the maid leaves him. He’s well acquainted with that decrepit, hollowed look and the long-suffering patience that accompanies it as death is waited upon to make its inevitable entrance and is glad Thomas is spared this sad sight. She stirs when he sits the bag down.

“Doctor?”

“Hello, Mrs. Hiddleston. How are you feeling today?” Though he too has known death in its various and strange forms, the coolness in the doctor’s voice irks Asmodeus and he is forcing his consciousness to the forefront of the human’s mind earlier than he had anticipated.

“I am feeling a bit better,” the woman says even as she struggles to sit up. Well, now I know where Thomas’ gets his bloody stubbornness from, Asmodeus thinks bitterly as he crosses the dark room. He aides her carefully, heedful of her weakened state, until she is comfortably sitting against a mound of pillows.

“You look feverish.” The woman demurs softly, but Asmodeus won’t hear any of it and takes a tiny vial of laudanum from the satchel. With his back turned to Mrs. Hiddleston, he enchants the brown liquid within before sitting it down on her nightstand. “I want you to take a drop of this medicine with your tea every morning,” he instructs gently. “You have my word that you will feel better in no time at all, ma’am.”

“Of course, doctor,” she says with a gentle but resigned smile. “Of course.”

 

* * *

 

I traverse in countryside with the intent of returning several books that I have borrowed to their rightful master. Though time spent enjoying the pleasant weather would be refreshing under any other circumstance, the despondency over my mother’s teetering health has become a cage that I am unable to escape. No matter the necessity of a diversion, the inexplicable air of stillness surrounding Harwood Park is decidedly strange and I knock with the utmost uncertainty. It is as though the mansion has been abandoned though I speculate Asmodeus would have informed me of his departure. Moments later Maurice opens the massive door for my entrance.

“Good afternoon,” I greet him, stepping inside the foyer, which makes the butler bow gracefully. “Is Asmodeus at home?”

“The master resides in the drawing room,” he tells me in a voice steeped with disdain.

“Thank you,” I say quickly and hurry away, worried that he has taken an unanticipated offense to my appearance.

The incongruity of the atmosphere continues in the drawing room.  Instead of the customary neatness I have come to expect within Asmodeus’ home, the chamber is slovenly kept with the demon lounging upon the sofa, cravat untied with his dusty boots smudging the fine satin of the furniture. He is engaged in flicking cards into an upturned hat in the middle of the room. The attempt is so careless that the floor is littered with dozens of the cards while the hat remains to be filled.

“Good afternoon, Asmodeus.”

He glances towards the doorway, his blue eyes bored, and delivers a banal, “Afternoon,” before continuing his perfunctory activity. I openly stare for this unfamiliar behavior bewilders me unduly. I have never known Asmodeus to act so insipid before.

“I’ve come to return the books I borrowed,” I start, hesitant. “Shall I leave them in the library for you?”

“That would be very thoughtful. Do you know where the library is?”

I shake my head. I know very few rooms with in the massive home for fear of stumbling upon something I ought not to see. Asmodeus heaves a cumbersome sigh and, putting his game aside, sits up. He crosses his arms, frowning like a querulous child. “That’s a shame. I’d as lief give my right horn to see it but I have been unable to find the room’s location. I know Maurice refuses to tell me for fear that I would make a horrible mess of it.”

“Asmodeus, I do not like you hoaxing me.”

There is another sigh and the demon slumps against the sofa, his head resting against the back. “Oh, this is too tiring,” he grumbles softly. Horrified, I can only watch the large figure melt down until there is nothing but a waif of a youth reposing where Asmodeus once sat. Though his face is a handsome one, he is surprisingly jaded as he regards me.

“Who are you?” His tiny horns betray him demonic origin but what is he doing parading as Asmodeus?

“Belphegor,” he replies with unanticipated candor as he slides to the floor to pick up the misplaced cards. “Asmo’s youngest brother.”

His antics are so childish that it seems ridiculous to be suspicious of him and I step further into the room. “And where exactly is Asmodeus?”

“London.”

A jolt of bitter hurt burrows deep into my chest. I saw the demon not above two days ago and yet he has managed to make an exceptionally speedy trip to my hometown. I berate myself for not appealing to him for perhaps I could be at my mother’s side and not squandering my time in Cotswold, waiting days for another letter about my dear mama’s health.

“Why is he in London?”

“It’s a delicate situation,” the young demon states quietly. “From what I gathered from Beel, it has something to do to with your mama. I didn’t pay attention for very long when he told me of their foreseeable exploits in London. He was so giddy I think he actually forgot that I didn’t care.”

I am so dumbfounded by the news I have to sit down.  “Then, what brings you here?”

“Asmo practically begged me to be here in his stead as a precaution. At first I was not willing but he made such a cake of himself that I couldn’t deny him.” With an expert shuffle, the demon holds up the deck of cards towards me. “Do you play Faro, Thomas?”

“Asmodeus went to London on my account?” I echo faintly. “To see my mama?”

Belphegor nods. “You know Asmodeus never told me to keep this from you but I think it would be most beneficial, for me anyway, that you kept this conversation mum.”

I look down at my lap, unsure what to make of this information. I never once pleaded for Asmodeus to help me for fear of boring the demon with my troubles yet apparently he has taken it upon himself to be a selfless benefactor and that so distorts my prior impression of the demon that I am thoroughly undone. Then bewilderment concedes to the thought that my mama might live and the flood of joy that flutters within my heart leaves me shaken. If everything Belphegor says is true then I owe the demon more than I ever could repay.

“You look stricken, Thomas. Are you all right?”

“Yes,” I saw, rubbing my eyes fervently. “Of course.”

Belphegor’s stare are unwavering as he cocks his head to a side. “You mortals are curious things. Whenever you cry I can never tell if you are sad or happy.”

“I’m happy, I suppose, and grateful.”

“That seems tedious. As tedious as residing here is,” the demon complains. “Will you divert me a moment by playing a game with me? Maurice is content to be fussbucket and ignores me most of the time.”

I nod my consent, as feeble as a leaf, and move to sit before the demon on the floor and am dealt my cards. “I cannot believe he went,” I find myself murmuring to myself. “After all, I never asked him to go. Why would he put himself through the trouble?”

For the first time true amusement lights up Belphegor’s face and he looks impossible young. “That’s easy enough to surmise, Thomas. Asmodeus is-”

“That’s quite enough, Belphegor.”

We are taken by surprise when Asmodeus strides into the room, looking at his brother with immense displeasure. His clothes are windswept and dusty and I flush and quickly become tongue tied as I stare, not having the sensible forethought to think of what I might say upon his return now that I am privy to his benevolence.

Belphegor allots his brother an irritated scowl, a challenge flashing in his eyes. “Asmo, your timing is always incorrigible.”

“As is your disobedience,” Asmodeus counters rather harshly.

Belphegor’s bubbly laughter is contradictory with Asmodeus’ glowering disapproval. “Touché,” the youth concedes, giggling.

“Away with you, you hopeless cur,” he snaps, grabbing his brother by the scruff of his neck and hauling him towards the fireplace. Belphegor is shoved without ceremony inside the firebox, all the while bemoaning the loss for his cards, and a moment later the firebox is empty as though it was a door rather than a fireplace. In the apprehensive silence that falls in the aftermath, Asmodeus is slow to acknowledge my presence and focuses his attention to cleaning the mess Belphegor has left in his wake.

“Belphegor told me you went to London,” I speak up cautiously, my hands gripped together so hard that my fingers begin to tingle. “Is that true?”

“Yes,” Asmodeus replies softly as he turns about to meet my gaze.

“To help my mama?”

He nods. Instead of boasting that he has acquired more influence over my person than ever before, he is surprisingly discomfited as he endures my incredulous stare. I stand to my unsteady feet, nonplussed and overwhelmed at his behavior, and slowly traverse the room. When I’m standing before him I ignore propriety long enough to embrace him and place a simple kiss upon his check.

“Oh, Asmodeus, thank you so much,” I whisper, my voice wavering on a sob. “I don’t know how I can repay such kindness.”

“Don’t worry yourself, Thomas. I find that we are very much even now.” He places a gentle kiss on my forehead, his hands settling on my hips. “It was merely recompense for freeing me. It’s a repugnant thing for a demon, especially a prince, to be indebted.”

I bit my lip and smile. “Of course but it was a kindness nevertheless.”

There is something odd gleaming in his eyes. The prolonged contact would have been an ample opportunity to ravish me but Asmodeus seems content to withhold and continue in this new and gentle fashion. I own that my initial doubts of the demon are temporarily dispelled and I acquiesce to dine with the demon without hesitation.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s the rapping on my door that stirs me in the dead of night. Mind still viscous with sleep, I can only groan and hope that my visitor leaves quickly for I am in no condition to attend to their needs. I have always had a fondness for gardening but perhaps have over exerted myself too much today in constructing my own and now every muscle is inconsolably stiff. As a priest my lack of hospitality ought to be worrisome but the thought that it could only be Asmodeus calling at such an advanced hour makes me frown. I bury my aching body deeper beneath the patchwork quilt and tune out the racket.

The knocking downstairs eventually stops and a sigh of relief fans my pillow. Peace returns and encourages sleep however the knocking recommences. Only this time it is at my bedroom door and it serves more like a notice than an enquiry before my privacy is rudely breached.

“Now, Thomas,” Asmodeus gently chides as he steps into the tiny room, “when I said we ought to skip the formalities that did not make insolence permissible.”

The door is quietly shut and I hear his boots beat a steady rhythm against the wooden floor as he traverses the room. There is sprightly excitement whirling within my belly when the narrow bed dips beneath the weight of the demon as he sits beside me.

“My apologies.” I rest on my stomach with my face towards the window.  It’s more convenient to remain still and convince myself that if I cannot see him I won’t want him as much as I do. “It was unintended.”

“Are you ill, darling?” His voice is a sonorous rumble that caresses my senses and my eyes close on their own accord as he places a warm hand on the back of my neck. I savor the contact more than what is justifiable.

“No. It’s simply the case of overexertion.”

“Oh, yes,” Asmodeus chimes in blithely. “I saw your lovely little endeavor. I had no idea that you liked to garden.”

“It’s always been something I have admired though I fear I lack a green-thumb.” When his fingers begin to massage small circles into my stiff muscles I have to pause and clinch my teeth to endure the torment. “I’m doubtful that the flowers will survive a fortnight.”

“You are very tense, Thomas.” Amusement coats his voice so much that I can hear his smile. Any objection I have when the quilt is pushed back is lost when he begins to gently but firmly knead my shoulders in earnest. If a little moan of pleasure escapes me it’s entirely unintentional. The unprovoked aid is a relief even it makes me feel like a rag doll under his ministration. “Unfortunately for you, judiciousness is an attribute you lack.”

“I know. I’m hopelessly stubborn.”

“It’s that proper English backbone of yours,” the demon chuckles, tapping my spine with a knuckle. As the ache slowly subsides and my muscles begins to untangle from their tight knots, I am lured into a peaceful torpor that shatters when Asmodeus yanks back the quilt and forcibly removes my thin nightshift.

His indecency is outrageous. I sit, blushing furiously as I try to cover myself, and glare at the demon.

“You look as if I have betrayed you, Thomas,” Asmodeus laughs, smirking. “Do lie down on your stomach again. I have no plans to have you tonight. Your bed is far too narrow to do anything fun.”

I consider his words warily before I acquiesce. Though I am eager to hide my nudity from him, I am highly uncomfortable with my unavoidable exposure and my soreness puts me in no mood to be accosted. “I hope you are not hoaxing me, Asmodeus,” I grumble.  “I have no fondness for the unbecoming position you are putting me in.”

Asmodeus shifts and apprehension pervades when I feel his weight against my back. My breath pauses in my lungs. His mouth is against the delicate shell of my ear, tickling my skin and triggering a rush of excitement to run throughout my body, when he whispers, “But having you thusly laid out is wonderfully appealing, my darling. You are good enough to eat.”

Despite my irritable mood, I own his husky words do have an effect on me. Lust pools in my belly as I feel myself stiffen between my thighs. The implication is entirely dismissed when Asmodeus straightens and delivers a slap to my backside. For a moment I am too shocked to speak. Surely he must me ribbing me.

“Did you…?”

Asmodeus chuckles again as he arranges my nightshift so that it is covering my stinging backside and thighs.  “Does that make you more comfortable, sweet Thomas?”

“Yes,” I concede. “Thank you.”

“Good. Hands at your sides,” he gently orders. “You are fond of lavender, correct?”

I hum in approval and when his hands settle once more upon my fraught shoulders they are aided by fine, fragrant oil. The scent washes over my like a wave and I breathe deeply, basking in the comforting aroma. Without the layer of cloth separating our flesh, the massage is gauchely intimate. At first I am vigilant in the event Asmodeus recants his gallantry, but I eventually become unconcerned with propriety and circumspection as the stiffness is wrest from my body. Asmodeus is meticulous and at times painfully diligent, rendering me a malleable, covetous mass beneath his clever fingers.

“You ought to come visit my garden sometime, my dear.”

It takes a moment for me to realize that the soft drone at the edge of my consciousness is Asmodeus’ voice. I have once again been seduced into a stupor and it makes me shamefully frank when I reply, “I have admired it from afar.”

“Come now, Thomas, don’t be so timid,” he replied affably. “You must get a closer look. I have things that are not necessarily local and I would love for you to see them.”

“All right but just the flowers, Asmodeus,” I amend with a smile as I recall Beelzebub’s story of his brother’s notorious collection of art.

That makes him chuckle. “As you wish.”

His fingers never stray far from my upper back as he works out the brawny kinks. He digs into my flesh unsympathetically, soothing the grating tension with patience and persistence. The massage is completely phlegmatic but I am wary when his fingers steadily creep down my spine to deeply knead the muscles of my backside. I tense in response to the impudence despite the fact that the massage continues to be indecently enjoyable.

My voice is stiffly polite when I speak up. “This is a little unorthodox, Asmodeus.”

“You have a demon as a bedmate, Thomas, and you think me rubbing your ass is unorthodox?” The amusement in his voice is tangible. “Though I must admit it’s a very nice ass; one that I have admired many times from afar.”

I have no idea if he is speaking the truth or is continuing his habit of badgering me but I find myself amused with the ridiculous compliment. A peaceable silence returns and I endure his gentle handling, which causes me to bit my lower lip when I feel my wicked arousal resurface.

Now I have become far too unsettled to enjoy his attentiveness. The sensuous grind of his hands on my body renders me entirely wanton and takes great effort to keep still when I begin to imagine Asmodeus ending my incorrigible desire. Mortification makes me gasp when his fingers slide between my legs to knead the insides of my thighs. I am thankful he is more concerned about my wellbeing for my embarrassment would have been too awful to endure if he realized how swiftly his touch has spoiled any sense of my former propriety.

When he deems me sufficiently abetted, Asmodeus delivers another little slap to my backside and commands that I turn over. I gulp thickly as I feel the heat in my face spread to the rest of my body. “Thank you but I’m feeling quite well now, Asmodeus.”

“Seems to me you can be a whole lot better though,” Asmodeus murmurs darkly.

The bed shifts as he lowers his large body next to mine and I shiver when I feel his lips on the back of my neck. I sigh as a relief of another caliber washes upon me. His closeness feeds my sordid desire and pacifies the gaping need I feel for him. If he notices my complacency, he shows no indication as he places soft, unhurried kisses across the expanse of my back, licking and nipping my flesh seemingly at random while his finger slowly caress as if to savor every inch of my exposed flesh. My breath leaves my lungs in a raspy rush while I abide his salacious coddling.

Eventually his exploits make me too warm and bothered to stay still. I moan, the sound rumbling deep in my throat, as I writhe indolently, spurred on by the gratifying friction of the bedclothes against my cock. Eventually a hand settles on my hip, fingers curling around the prominent bone, and with unexpected strength, Asmodeus pulls me away from the damp mattress until I am lying on my side, divulging the pitiable condition I am in.

I close my eyes. I want the demon so much that I am dizzy but I dread his mockery. However, he seems content to nuzzle my neck for a moment before roughly whispering, “Even though I do like your ass, I carry a certain fondness for your cock especially when it craves my attention.”

His words inflame me and I turn my head, seeking his mouth. He does not keep me waiting but pulls my body flush against his as he guides my frenzied kiss. His erection is irrefutable and I move against him, wanting to feel more but when his hand slips from my hip to grasp my cock, I find myself very distracted. I lay heavy and throbbing in his palm, his thumb caressing the wet crown before he begins to shunt his fist back and forth. Pleasure ripples through my body and I am its hapless vessel. I am frantic for more contact and venture to rub my tongue against the seam of his lips with unacquainted boldness. A sonorous groan rumples in Asmodeus’ throat as he deepens the kiss, encouraging the frantic kiss as he strokes me.

I won’t last long but I need to touch him before I am finished. My hand abandons his thigh where I have anchored him to me and brushes against Asmodeus’ prominent bulge. With an impatient growl, he roughly undoes the buttons of his trousers.  I wrap my hand around his cock without hesitation, pumping with similar speed and pressure.

“Oh, my little wanton priest,” Asmodeus growls, teeth scraping the skin of my back, “the things I want to do to you right now.”

The dark warning and the persistent touch are enough to send me over the tantalizing precipice. I tense, my body pulsating with the heat of my climax, as I come with a broken, breathy groan. Distracted by my release, my grip falters but Asmodeus’ lust has made him a greedy creature. He holds my hand tightly within his and continues to rut wildly into my fist. “I’d fuck you all night if you would let me, Thomas,” he grunts roughly. “I’d make you beg for my cock in your ass until you are hoarse so that when I finally take you, you are unable to scream but claw at my skin to show me just how much you love it.”

With a deep moan Asmodeus spills. For a moment he is prone and the only motion comes from the heaving of his broad chest. Eventually his grip weakens but I have the irrepressible need to please him so I continue to milk his thick cock unaided until he is utterly satiated and soft in my hand.

“Oh, Thomas,” he mutters, placing an ardent kiss into my palm. “My clever, lovely boy.”

I offer a sleepy smile and pull myself from my languor to redress. My orgasm has left me indecently content and I yield to Asmodeus’ embrace beneath the quilt that he was drawn up over our bodies. If he wishes to linger for the night I cannot summon the energy to resist him.

“Does it ever end?” I ask as silence descends upon my bedchamber. My voice is soft; I’m almost fearful to break the peace and receive an answer I do not wish to hear but it’s a question that I need to ask. “This unquenchable desire that I feel for you? Or is it part of the bargain?”

 “Oh, I hope it doesn’t end,” Asmodeus replies and I can feel his lips pressing gentle kisses into my shoulder. “I am quite fond of the feeling-the yearning, the keening, and the obsession that feels like it will drive me insane if I cannot have you.”

His closeness and his body warmth are both a comfort and a sedative to my nerves and I find myself closing my eyes. I cuddle closer to Asmodeus, thoughtlessly hugging his arm closer to my body. I would like to blame the post-coital bliss for the reason why my traitorous fingers intertwine with his but that would be a falsehood. Even if the demon enjoys the yearning of this errant relationship, I have grown fond of the affection that is ushered in when the burning passion subsides. In the middle of the night there is no benefit of hiding from the truth for it is one that calms my heart that is so often confused.


	9. Chapter 9

Once the tranquility of the night has passed, I find myself exceedingly disturbed that I have allowed myself to be ensnared in a game that I’m not sure I wish to end. The revelation is an ominous one and I make great strives to be encumbered by my priestly duties so that any interaction with Asmodeus the following week is minimal at best. Without saying a word, the demon keeps his distance.

At first I am grateful for solitude that encourages contemplation. By the end of this brief period of asceticism, however, I have no obtained no genuine answers to my questions while my need for Asmodeus is growing too painful to bear. I surrender when I realize that the feeling will only pass if I see him; therefore on Saturday I tell myself that it is acceptable to go to Harwood Park under the condition that I only go to see Asmodeus’ garden. I labor tirelessly that morning so when I amble over the hillside to Harwood Park I have not purposely abandoned my obligations for an hour of amusement.

The excitement coursing throughout me is as inexplicable as it is incorrigible and I own that it makes me feel rather boyish as exit my cottage and sally forth. I am not expecting to encounter anyone on this journey, especially another demon yet I find Beelzebub sitting atop my gate. Though he continues to dress ostentatiously with his shiny baubles and his ornate suit that was more appropriate for the court of Louis XVII, the gluttonous demon does not appear to be as foxed as before.

My bemusement slows my pace until I am at a decent trot and he greets me with a friendly smile as I approach him. “Good afternoon, Thomas!”

I find myself returning the gesture. Mama had tirelessly drilled good manners into my brain as a child so even if I am confused and still hold onto my doubt regarding Asmodeus’ confession that I had spent a night with Beelzebub, courtesy is an infallible reflex.  “Good afternoon, Beelzebub. What brings you to my doorstep?”

He continues to smile as he jumps to the ground and opens the gate for me to pass though. “I was merely wondering if you had time to pop by and see Asmodeus for a moment, my dear fellow,” he explains offhandedly. “I believe there has been a rather unfortunate case of misunderstanding and he has become quite the bother to me.”

I deliberate. Though I ought to have scruples about being caught in a scrape between kin, I would like to offer any help I can to resolve the conflict. “I won’t pretend to know what is going on, Beelzebub, but I’ll help if you think I can be of use.”

The journey to Harwood Park is an agreeable one for Beelzebub is loquacious and cheerful, not the kind of mindset one has when one fights with a sibling but I rationalize that it merely his nature. We climb the wide stone steps and Beelzebub raps sharply on the massive door. When it opens it reveals a rather unkempt demon. Looking haggard in his fine but creased evening dress, it appears as though he hadn’t even bothered to crawl into his bed last night. Asmodeus looks surprised at first but when his blue eyes travel between me and Beelzebub, they quickly harden.

“Good afternoon, Brother! God, you looked as though you’ve just awakened.”

Asmodeus steps back from the threshold to grant us entry into the dark foyer. “And so I have,” he replies humorously as he shuts the door with more force than was necessary. I tell myself that the uneasiness I feel seep into my body is a needless overreaction.

“It’s past noon.”

I am content to be a wallflower to the brothers’ correspondence but my presence does not go unnoticed for long. There is an unusual spitefulness to Asmodeus’ smirk when he fixes his eyes upon me and asks, “To what do I owe to pleasure of _your_ sudden appearance, Father? Come to invite a wayward fiend to mass?”

The coldness in his voice is more hurtful than I ever could have imagined. I gape, terribly tongue-tied. My poise scatters like brittle leaves in the wind as my heart quails as though he has pierced it with a dagger instead of his callously utterly words. After a week of self-restraint I was expecting a more pleasant welcome but instead Asmodeus is stiff with unmerited hostility. I twist my hands together and swallow hard, ill-equipped for this unfriendly attitude after the sweet affection I have inadvertently become accustomed to. It was a mistake to come here I chide myself.

I look at Beelzebub for guidance but the demon is too preoccupied by glaring at his brother to enlighten me of the particulars the situation.

“I came to see you, Asmodeus,” I murmur halfheartedly while devising a plan of escape but the way Asmodeus’ eyes pin me I know I cannot get out of this elegantly.

“Right.” His scorn is a harsh thing to withstand.

“Well, since we are all gathered here,” Beelzebub interjects and I am beginning to wonder if his merriment is being forced, “we might as well retire to the drawing room. For drinks and polite conversation of course.”

Asmodeus bestows upon his brother a contemptuous look before he concedes. With a sloppy wave of his hand, the air around him shudders like a mirage. When it stops I see that he has impeccably redressed himself in ascetic garments with only a pearl pin in his cravat and his heavy signet ring for adornment. Normally such an outright display of his sorcery would intrigue me but now I’m too troubled to admire it. While he turns on his heels and marches down the foyer, I remain grounded where I stand. He pauses when he realizes that no one is following him and shoots a heated glance over his shoulders. I would be stupid not to acknowledge that he is angry and to see Asmodeus in such a state makes me deeply nervous.

“Thomas.” He says my name as though it’s a peremptory command.

I stare at him, shaken by the asperity while Beelzebub continues to scowl at his brother. “Why are you so angry?” I look frantically between the two demons, my brows twisted. “Have you received disturbing news from your home?”

His chuckle is not a humorous one. “Oh, you stupid, selfish child,” he sneers, slowly returning. I fear he would have come closer had not Beelzebub discreetly interrupted his path. Nevertheless he cuts an intimidating figure and I am forced to step away or else be stifled by his presence and the malice burning in his eyes.

“Have _I_ done something to upset you?” It sounds unfathomable. I search my mind for something-a look, an exchange-that could have caused such a rift between us but it’s difficult to remain reasonable when old, forgotten panic resurfaces with a vengeance.

“You spurn me an entire week with no word and no contact, Thomas,” he reprimands sharply, his voice shaking my bones and in my fright I forget how to breathe. “And then you saunter in out of the blue and ask to see me. How can you think I would tolerate such disingenuous treatment?”

My own anger is disastrously easy to reciprocate and it does little to help our strained rapport. “Please continue to be mean, Asmodeus! It would be easier to loathe this entire situation, if you were unkind!”

“Oh, I can be as dominating and as rough as you like me to be, Thomas,” he sneers, his handsome face twisting contemptuously. “You ought to remember that!”

The callous remark crushes any trust I have unfortunately placed in the demon and I recoil, tears swelling up in my eyes. Beelzebub comes to my defense and pushes Asmodeus away when he tries to advance. Though his physique is slimmer, their strength is matched and Asmodeus is deterred by his brother’s hands.

 “Calm yourself.”

Outraged by his the interruption, Asmodeus turns his anger on his brother. “Stand aside! Thomas doesn’t need you to protect him.”

“You’re being entirely uncouth,” Beelzebub snaps, shoving his brother away.

“And what do you care for being uncouth? For all I know you’ve been fucking him behind my back this entire week.”

I gasp, hurt beyond words of Asmodeus’ lowly opinion of me. I had no idea my actions had the power to provoke such maliciousness. It’s excruciating but I do not have the means to make him stop but with one quick movement, Beelzebub draws back a fist and pummels his brother square in the face. Horrified, I watch Asmodeus’ head snap back before the blow knocks him to the floor, his lip split and bloodied. The room is unnaturally quiet as he glares at Beelzebub, malice yielding to resignation as all his aggression is quelled from the sobering strike.

“You seldom get enraged but when you do you say the most asinine bullshit I have ever heard,” Beelzebub rages. “Now calm down, you fucking asshat, and go into the drawing room because we _will_ have drinks and conversation.”

Asmodeus spares me one quick look and I see shame in his eyes but my own resentment makes forgiveness a difficult gift to grant.

“ _Niiso_ ,” Beelzebub murmurs quietly as he pulls Asmodeus to his feet and the two cross the foyer. They pause at the doorway, studying me. I draw a deep, shuddering breathe as I stand depleted and weak. I recognize that I have the opportunity to leave and nurse my bruised heart if I so choose but I find that premature withdrawal would be cowardly.  So I clear my throat, steel myself with every last scrap of dignity I hold, and follow the demons into the drawing room.

The atmosphere is fraught with tension as we move as delicately as possible with the other, fearful that one thoughtless word or action might severe our tentative truce. Asmodeus collapses onto a chair before the fireplace, nursing the wound on his lip and it feels as though I bear its twin on my heart. Tossing off my hat, I occupy an end of a luxurious sofa, feeling threadbare after such raw emotions, and accept the Beelzebub’s handkerchief. I use the time it takes to dry my eyes to gather my thoughts while he pour drinks on the sideboard. The Madeira Beelzebub offers me is pleasant and restores my ragged nerves and I drink it gratefully. He gives a tumbler to Asmodeus as well before he stands like a headmaster between us, somber and watchful as though we are his ill-disciplined students.

“Now, there are some things you two ought to hash out civilly and, Thomas, I am willing to remain if you need me to.”

I shake my head quietly, too humiliated to look at him, and stare extraordinarily hard at my drink. 

“ _Aai biab dods_ ,”Beelzebub murmurs harshly to Asmodeus. I have no knowledge of the language they speak but I can recognize that Beelzebub’s parting words are not ones of affability. Then he beckons sharply at the fireplace and I watch it grown until it’s tall enough to encompass him. He walks through it after a decisive look around the quiet drawing room before completely disappearing within the smoky darkness on the other side of the firebox.

The stillness upon Beelzebub’s departure is strained as we recover and gather our thoughts. After an overlong pause, Asmodeus sighs as he climbs to his feet. He crosses the room slowly and sits at the other end of the sofa, legs outstretched in front of him with his tumbler of brandy resting on his thigh. His left arm rests across the back of the couch and I find myself becoming apprehensive in his vicinity though he is exceedingly careful not to touch me.

“Oh, Thomas,” he begins, his voice thick with emotion.

My wooden composure snaps like a twig. 

“How dare you say such awful things about me,” I interject, hissing through clinched teeth as my rancor increases. “Just because I am young and mortal does not give you the right to cruelly slander my person, Asmodeus.”

The demon’s sigh is heavy and disheartened. “At my worst, I am a bitter, violent, and jealous beast,” he says, struggling to disgrace his pedigree. “At my best I am lewd and improper. I know that I retain no redeeming qualities, Thomas, but I do know that I need to apologize for my behavior.”

I take a moment to restrain my emotions before I become too overwrought to think sensibly and my silence unnerves him. “You have my sincerest apologies, Thomas. I allowed my temper to get the best of me when I thought you were slighting me on purpose. I’m so sorry for frightening and insulting you.”

“I never meant to hurt you but there were certain things I needed to reflect upon,” I reply, pained and shocked by my own incompetence. “I thought you understood my need for solitude since you didn’t call. I only realize now that I should have written to you.”

“Your contemplative nature is hard to understand, Thomas,” he admits quietly. “We had a very lovely night before you went into hiding. Why stop and think about it when there are much better things to do?” His fingertips graze the back of my neck playfully, as if trying to draw me from my sullenness, but I remain reluctant. Resigned, he pulls back, studying me. “My darling, besides my outright vulgarity, what else have I done to trouble you so?”

I’m uneager about revealing truth behind my behavior but I own that it is a somber matter which needs to be confided. I do not look at him when I speak. “It is the very nature of our beings that trouble me, Asmodeus. You are a demon and I am a priest. You are my adversary yet I found myself growing more tolerant of our bargain than I thought possible.” I risk a cautious glance at him. “And of you.”

Asmodeus looks exceedingly pleased by my plight and he smiles wide, his eyes twinkling. “Our bargain is a very tolerable thing, Thomas. You’re supposed to enjoy it.”

 “It’s a sin,” I stubbornly insist. “It’s a sin I am actively committing. I can no longer claim innocence but must be held accountable for all my actions. How can I be a proper priest when I willingly engage in such illegal and immoral behavior?”

“Thomas, your overthinking mind always sends you capering off into a depression that I cannot follow. But if it eases your mind I promise to make an appearance in heaven on your behalf and inform your Lord how it was I who forced your hand in this bargain and surely He will have some leniency on your soul.”

The inability converse meaningfully with the demon frustrates me. “That does not sound as comforting as you think it might be.”

“Oh, Thomas, your introspective, serious nature will get the best of you,” he says as his head drops against the back of the sofa as if exasperated by my moral quandary. “When will you realize that those foolish rules and laws you obstinately abide by only serves to make life boring and half-lived? There is no right or wrong. Only what feels good and what doesn’t.”

Even though his conclusion seem quite simple but I remain doubtful. “Is that the universal truth or your own personal philosophy?”

“My own personal philosophy after I took a little tumble from Heaven,” he says with a rueful smile. “And I must admit I’m quite partial to that way of thinking. It makes life so much more pleasurable. But let’s not digress into the past, Thomas, for mine is very long and messy, and allow me to say that I have missed you terribly during our respite.”

There is a willful smile tugging the corners of my mouth but I do my best to repress it. “And I have missed you too,” I quietly admit.

He leans over and hazards a tender kiss on my cheek. “You don’t know how much that pleases me to hear you say so, my dear. I think we ought to spend the morning reuniting in my bed until we exhaust ourselves. Don’t you agree, Thomas?”

I blush, protesting half-heartedly but after a week of abstinence his closeness and affection effectively excite and rekindle my desire for him. I fear my smile is an indication of my predilection and his own takes on a predatory quality. He pulls me against his chest but the kiss he presses against my mouth is warmly affectionate, lingering but full of promise given the chance to mature. It’s lighthearted and mischievous but my heart quickens at the thought of deeper intimacy. Greedily I fill my hands with his handsome face so that I can touch his skin and let my fingers delve into his dark hair, and part my mouth. He shudders underneath me, deepening the kiss with his wicked tongue to explore my mouth as if time had stopped for us.

“Thomas,” Asmodeus’ pants harshly, “shall we be utterly indolent and fuck on the floor?”

“Yes.”

Asmodeus works far more quickly to strip me of the various layers of my somber black attire but my fingers have managed to untie his cravat before he has me standing between his long legs to remove the last of my garments. When I feel the first cringes embarrassment for being so utterly naked in his presence, Asmodeus uses his hands and mouth to distract me, allowing my pleasure to simmer rather than to cause it to boil over. His attentiveness draws deep, quiet moans from me as I cling to his shoulders for purchase.

“You are so beautiful like this, my darling,” Asmodeus murmurs, slowly pumping me in his hand when his mouth departs. His voice is so gentle and accommodating that I error in looking at him and the sight of my cock tracing his lips is outrageously profane.

“Don’t be so shy, Thomas. You ought to watch some time.” Holding me prisoner with his burnished eyes, I watch him deliberately draw his hot tongue across the head of my cock and I gasp both from the feeling as well as the discomfiture of see such obscenity. “It’s rather invigorating.” With a wicked smirk he unhands me and climbs to his feet to press a kiss into my waiting mouth. “Lay down by the fireplace.”

The fact the Asmodeus is using his sorcery to draw the curtains over the windows makes my journey a little easier to bear and I sit down upon the plush rug. I watch him approach, beset with anticipation. He is breathtaking and mesmerizing, all power and masculinity, as he carefully undresses under my watch. I grovel on my knees when he stops in front of me and boldly unfasten the buttons of his trousers. His eager state makes me blush but I remain steadfast. His wanton groan as I take him within my mouth is emboldening as is the hand on the back of my skull so I continue to bob my head, sucking tentatively, and let him exhaust my mouth.

I could have worshipped him all day but he intercepts my genuflection with a searing and persuades me to lay back. I welcome his solid weight atop me, my legs falling apart to accommodate his body, and he peppers my pale chest with more kisses. A devious tongue misuses my nipples, further inciting my pleasure, as I feel his slick fingers slip into my body. I moan, my spine arching away from the rug. While my body demands more than that Asmodeus is stanch and continues to magnify my pleasure while simultaneously exercising my flesh with his skillful fingers until feel half-mad beneath him.

However there is a pause in our lovemaking when he guides me with indomitable strength until I’m sitting aside his lap and his crooked grin is spread wide across his lips. The moment is my brain needs to recuperate.

 “Don’t look so perturbed, my dear,” he purrs, eyes dark and heavy lidded, as I struggle with this new and dominant station he has offered. “I have a particular fondness for this position. Just follow the prompts.”

My breath catches in my throat as I feel his hands encourage my hips to move and I do so obediently, my desire slowly rekindled once more by the friction created between our bodies. My hands sweep the expanse of his broad chest, eventually settling for purchase in the middle of his torso, as I grind against him, deliberate and slow. His cock presses, twitching and urgent, into me and his hands flex against my skin as he struggles for the control I can see slowly ebbing away as his breath becomes labored and his desire supersedes. Though I am no match for his strength, Asmodeus remains compliant beneath me and I drink in the sight of my beautiful demon.

“Oh, you do like this,” I murmur, half-surprised. I meant it only in jest but the effect my words have on Asmodeus is remarkable. A breathy gasp falls from his lips and his eyes darken as we stare at each other. I bit my lower lip, shaken and daunted by the breadth of my desire for him.

“Oh, Thomas, you don’t understand how enticing I find submission to be,” he pants. I move firmly against him and I am rewarded with another wanton groan as our cocks rub. His head snaps back, his muscles taunt and quivering as he suffers the joy of our carnality. It ought to be impossible that how much I want him and with such intensity but my mind can’t stop imagining him buried inside of me. By the wild, unfocused look in his eyes, I know the thought is a mutual one.

Following his prompt, I rise to my knees and watch him coat his stiff length generously with quick strokes. He is grunting, slack-jawed and focused on me as he pumps himself, and I blush, transfixed at the captivating sight, before me pulls me into position once more. I moan when I feel him press against my entrance. Though I wish to acclimate myself quickly to the penetration it takes several tentative thrusts before he is fully inside. The penetration is deep, more intrusive than I could have imagined but the discomfort does not deter my endless want.

Asmodeus is rigid beneath me, the muscles in his neck straining as he pants. He is eager for roughness, for a quick end to the burning want, but is content to surrender to my deliberate pace. I ride him while his hands grip my hips, my pleasure slowly mounting with each thrust that leaves me wishing to beg for more.

When my legs begin to tremble from overexertion, I curl forward, exhausted. His lips move hungrily against mine as he thrusting into me with short, gentle spurts that cause my voice to tremble in my throat. My pleasure is a terrible, insatiable thing and I am forced to fist my cock, feeling my orgasm drawing incredibly close.  With a few swift frisks, I’m spent, painting my hand in the hot, white ribbons of my climax. Asmodeus quickly follows. His large form seizes beneath me, hips lunging upwards to burrow his cock deeper inside my bruised flesh to spill his seed. Grunting with every uneven and frantic thrust, he continues to use me until he has grown too soft to do so.

My body is ready for a respite but before I can catch my breath, he surges upwards and catches my boneless, breathless form in a tight embrace. I melt into his warm body, feeling impossibly tired, and I am content wallow in our mutual bliss while he showers my overused lips and skin with countless fervent kisses. When my strength returns, I smile at him, red-faced and self-conscious, even as I run my knuckles against his cheek.

“You are a liar, Asmodeus,” I blurt out tenderly.

He looks surprised by my statement as he studies me. “How so, my dear?”

I blush and try to demur but Asmodeus has me speaking the truth in no time. “At your best, you are kind and affectionate.”

Asmodeus grins, eyes twinkling, and pulls me in for another long and languid kiss.


	10. Chapter 10

To my surprise my little garden survived over a fortnight.  In fact not only did it survive it my mishandling, it flourished into an enviable masterpiece.  The pathetic flowers grew large, plentiful blooms that tested the original boundaries, the colors acquired a vibrant palette, and the scent was much sweeter and copious than that my initial pitiable garden. I was quiet amazed and was ready to congratulate myself on a job well done before I realize that some sort of mischief must be afoot.

“What has you so enthralled, my dear?”

I turn away from the open window in the front parlor and regard Asmodeus who is sprawled in the large leather chair in front of the fireplace. “My garden,” I divulge. “It’s become quite successful as of late.”

It’s late in the evening and I had been applying my mind to the books in the study when Asmodeus materialized out of nowhere to intentionally frighten the wits out of me. After a sound blow from the tome I had and a harsh reprimand that only served to worsen the demon’s amusement, all future plans for a peaceful evening were thrown out the window. Asmodeus had persuaded me to abandon my study and we convene in a comfortable atmosphere in the parlor. He is content to drink my brandy and steal glances in my direction as I contemplate the enigma of my garden.

“It’s not like you to be so conceited, Thomas,” the demon teases which earns him a sharp look that does not muzzle his humor.

“I’m being honest. I believe someone is kicking up a lark.”

“Maybe it’s merely the benefits of good soil?”

“Or maybe it’s your doing?”

Asmodeus tosses back his head and laughs. “With all the power I have, why would I squander it on vegetation?”

Though his argument is a compelling one I am hesitant to believe him. He has had centuries to perfect his mischievous nature and his ability to lie is unparalleled. “It’s really not you?”

Asmodeus shakes his head. “I think you misjudge your talent as a horticulturist.”

“I told you the truth,” I insisted. “I make a horrible gardener.”

“Well, you must being doing something right, my darling,” he says, drawing me away from the window and into his lap.

“I’m not but someone is and I’m going to find out who.”

Asmodeus smiles ruefully, amusement making his eyes shimmer, before he presses a soft kiss into my cheek. “What’s that mortal saying? Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth? Now let’s forget about the bloody garden for now and move on to something a little more carnal.”

~*~*~*~

Even if Asmodeus thinks he successfully diverted my misgivings, I remain steadfast and keep a close watch on my garden especially at night. After all it would not be a difficult feat for a demon to bewitch a tiny plot of land when he thinks its owner is none the wiser. For the following week I sleep in my parlor yet despite my proximity to my garden I still have not uncovered the culprit. Eventually my suspicion diminishes to the point where I start to believe that Asmodeus is correct about the soil - perhaps it is simply a case of good fertilization - until I am awakened in the middle of the night by a disturbance outside.

I am rattled and baffled as to why I am in parlor until another noise reminds me of my purpose.   Carefully I make my way to the window, fully intending to see Asmodeus in the midst of his mischief but when I pull back the curtains I see only the nighttime landscape. The moon hangs heavy and full in the black sky and radiates enough light to show me that my grounds are vacant. I stare a little larger, unwilling to admit that perhaps I might be wrong, when there is movement in the corner of my eye.

I can do nothing but gape when a young woman comes around the corner of my house. She is small and swathed in the leather attire of a highwayman but her most startling attribute are her horns. The closer she approaches the better able I am to discern the stocky, roughhewn bones are protruding from the sides of her skull and curve downwards to stop below her ears. I am thankful she does not see me as she concentrates on the water she has bewitched to slither behind her in mid-air like a gleaming serpent.

Maybe it’s the grace in which she moves, or the gentle way she waters the flowers, or her sweet face that has me opening the window and calling out a tentative hello. She looks up, startled and stares intently at me and does not move from her crouch. I am reminded of a frightened animal and feel guilty for alarming her.

“Good evening,” I say again.

Her eyes move side to side and I wonder if she is considering fleeing. Hope that she lingers a while to talk prevails inside of me. If she is in league with Asmodeus I would like to know.

“I’m Father Thomas Hiddleston.”

“I know who you are,” she says. Though her voice carries a rugged brogue, it’s surprisingly refined and intelligent. She stands cautiously, her posture rigid and dignified despite her mane of wild black hair and dusty buckskin attire.

I am taken aback. “I fear I don’t know who you are though.”

“We’ve meet before,” she tells me much to my shock. “At Asmo’s masque.”

“I’m sorry,” I reply, blushing warmly when I remember my rumored misbehavior that night. “I have no recollection.”

“I’m not surprised. It was an awfully dull affair compared to the parties he threw for Caligula. I asked you to dance with me but you said you didn’t know how,” she informs me. “I was with my brother, Belphegor. We were awfully curious about you but Mammon made us leave before we had to chance to speak with you again. I’m Leviathan, Asmo’s younger sister.”

“His sister? There are female princes in hell?” I am so shocked that my civility miscarries but instead of offending the infernal princess, her hardened expression softens with an amused smile.

“Come now, Thomas,” she jests. “Patriarchy is entirely too overplayed especially for ancient demons like me and my siblings.”

It feels like my mind is stunted for a moment. “Forgive me. I’m just a little surprised.”

“Asmo has two sisters. Mammon is a humorless bitch and I am the anchorite who resides in my little castle surrounded by a sea.” She laughs at my expression and flicks her index finger to sprinkle me with water. I scurry back before I am overly damped. “Relax, Thomas. You look as though I’m confiding in you the very secrets of hell. There is no need to be so rattled.”

“It’s all very… thought-provoking,” I admit. “I’m troubled that the Church has been so grossly misinformed about certain aspects of the faith.”

She frowns. “I advise against educating them, Father. I’d hate to see such a handsome face burned for heresy. Do they still do that? Burn people?”

“No,” I reply, horrified. “It’s been centuries since the Church actively condoned such treatment of dissenters.”

“Well, I can see you are disturbed by this subject so let us end this discussion,” the demon continues cheerfully as she resumes caring for my garden. “You, no doubt, have come ask me why I am bothering myself with this little patch of land, not to talk about the unpleasant aspects of mortal history.”

“I admit I’m rather curious.”

She shrugs to runs her hands through the podgy bush of pink roses, heedless of the thorns. “It’s refreshing to get out of Hell once and a while,” she says. “Especially since things are so chaotic now. Asmo lets me use his garden as a retreat and in return I take care of the plants there. He mentioned to me something about your little endeavor and I was very curious. So here I am.”

“I thank you for your concern,” I say which garners a shrug from the demon. Then I am struck by how uncivil I have mean conversing with her through my window. “Would you like to come in? I will make us some tea.”

My inquiry makes her cock her head to the side, her nose crinkling a little. “I have come close enough. I can smell the piety pouring from your home and I not have the tolerance to withstand much more.”

“Asmodeus seems quiet tolerant of it.”

“He is much older than I am and has adapted to it,” she explains. “I have not. Have a good night, Father. I’m sure we will see each other soon.”

With a slight on of her head, she walks away and disappears behind a wall of mist.  I stand here a long time, contemplating the unusual demon and our conversation, before my exhaustion makes me close the window and return to my chamber. I try not to think about how ominous her departing words sounded in the dead of night.


	11. Chapter 11

Sunday evening finds me locked away inside a wooden booth. The confessional was laboriously carved from the hands of a master but it was not made with comfort in mind and was tucked away in the corner of my church that I fear is empty. I have long since established the tradition of setting aside an hour every Wednesday and Sunday evening to reside within the confessional box for the sole benefit of my parishioners. While I am disheartened that few partake in the sacrament, my resolution does not falter. Though I have every intention of spending this self-inflicted isolation in prayer, distraction is a dogged inevitability. I begin to ponder the sermon I am to deliver next week or the sick and elderly I am to revisit within the coming days, and by then the hour long prayer is abandoned. Once my obligations are in sufficient order, my mind ultimately gravitates toward Asmodeus and I put an end my indecent thoughts with a scowl. The rosary is resumed with guilt-ridden dedication.

Preoccupied as my mind is, I’m unaware that a parishioner has entered the opposing stall until he speaks.  “ _Salutatio_ _, Pater_.” The voice that filters through the wooden lattice that divides the two compartments is unfamiliar. It is not the rugged grumble of the laborers of the village but rather the refined voice of a young man. With my curiosity incited, I lay my rosary down upon my lap. Young men do not actively seek out the aid of a priest so I believe he must be experiencing a troubling predicament.

“ _Salve, amicus meus_.”

“ _Gratias, Pater_ ,” he replies with little effort. This development surprises me for I have not had the privilege of speaking the old language with anyone outside of Mass.

“ _In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti_ ,” I say, beginning the sacrament as I execute the sign of my cross. “ _Amen_.”

“ _Amen_.”

“How long has it been since your last confession?”

There is a quiet, embarrassed chuckle. “I am afraid to admit that it has been far too long.”

“You have no need to be ill at ease. If you wish for God’s forgiveness, tell me your sins.”

“I have many.”

“No one is completely blameless.”

“Even you?”

The innocuous question is enough to strain my equability. _Especially me_. Fraught with contrition, I faintly demur, “It’s in our nature to sin.”

“That’s a commendable point. I suppose that makes God unable to create a wholly pure being, wouldn’t you agree, Father? If his beloved Angels and his Humans are prone to such wickedness surely that is reason enough to believe that God is an incompetent creator.”

I sense no malic in the pensive voice but such allegations appall me so much that I cannot summon the appropriate response and sit, stricken. The man chuckles softly in the ringing silence, his fervor quelled momentarily. “Forgive me, Father,” he concedes. “I read too much philosophy and my tongue becomes quite obsessed with the most radical of thoughts. God is perfection. His subjects need a little revision. Perhaps He simply didn’t spend enough time on their creation before He spewed them out across the worlds?”

My hand grips the rosary. I become aware of how advanced the hour is and how once more I am subjected to a stranger who inexplicably unnerves me. “What philosophy to you read exactly?”

“Oh, ancient reveries of a disgraced lunatic but I didn’t come here to discuss such momentous questions, Father. I came to talk to you.”

“To have me absolve you of your sins?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then please continue, my friend.”

“All in due time. Do you have siblings, Father?”

“Yes. I have an older sister and an older brother.”

“And are you cordial as a family?”

“Yes. There were times in my youth when we fought but it was over childish wants and desires. Now that we are adults, we fare very well.”

“My brothers and sisters are constantly bickering but I must admit I am solely to blame for that,” the young man confesses and I notice the undue smugness saturating his voice. “I love to fight, Father, and I love the thought of what I will procure when I win this last bout.”

The clues, insignificant words at the time, finally fall into place and it’s difficult to breathe when I think who might be lingering on the other side of the confessional. My hands grip the rosary so tightly that the iridescent pearls dig in my clammy flesh.

 “Why so silent, Father?” I watch, petrified, as the delicate screen is drawn back to reveal a beautiful face of a young man. Despite his nefarious reputation, Satan’s appearance is deceivingly benign with a windblown crown of black curls and large, expressive eyes, and a pink mouth that curls upwards in a boyish grin. He places an elbow on the ledge to rest his chin against the palm of his hand, laughter lurking in his eyes. “You look so distraught. Did you honestly think I would not call upon Asmodeus’ newest pet?”

I stare at the demon and hope that somehow, someway Asmodeus will miraculously sense my distress and fly to my aid. Maybe because Asmodeus had assumed that Satan would not be interested in anything outside his quest for domination, he had not divulged much information regarding his younger brother and it never occurred to me to ask. Only now do I see that my overconfidence has been a flagrant mistake and I chide myself for naively believing in Asmodeus’ infallible protection. He will not come and I am dependent upon my stunted wits to evade this perilous confrontation.

“W-why do you wish to see me?”

“Well, I wanted to see for myself the mortal my brother squanders his time on and I must say, Father, I am not overly impressed.” I press my lips together to keep silent and feign insipidness in the hope that the perilous demon will quickly become bored and leave me relatively unscathed. “For one so humble and undistinguished, you have certainly garnered much of my other brother’s attention, Thomas. But then again Asmo has never been fastidious when picking his paramours.”

The childish insult buffets my pride but I do not allow myself to become provoked. Sardonic amusement tugs at Satan’s lips and it becomes a challenge to remind myself that the disarming man sitting across from me is the ancient incarnation of evil. He presents a picture of equanimity when he sits back in his chair with his fingers laced behind his head and I strive to look unperturbed even though my hands tremble and my hearts hammers against my ribs.

“Do you have time to hear a story, Father?” He waits until I nod before continuing, eager as a child at play. “Centuries ago the eldest of the Hell’s princes, Lucifer and Mammon, had the gall to deem me an unfit ruler of my own kingdom. They called me mad and completely cast me off. The bastards left me with nothing and slowly my wounded pride turned to hatred. Hatred sparked a radical idea and I swore to myself that I would be the first and last King of Hell.” A smug grim slowly spreads across his face and mad glint flickers in his eyes. “I am, after all, the most famous of my siblings so why should I live out my immortality in such insignificance? I have struggled for so long and I am ready to win my war, Thomas, but now there is a dilemma. I yearn to kill all my siblings in one fatal swoop yet I fear you are keeping my dear brother out of hell. Thus my war has been stalled countless of time on your account and I’m growing very impatient. So,” Satan shrugs and looks almost apologetic before he says, “I suppose I’m here to kill you.”

Though his softly spoken oration has been engrossing, the sinister dagger he reveals swiftly dispels any false sense of security and I bolt out of the cubicle and into the desolate nave in a desperate attempt to save myself. Only a few steps towards freedom are gained before I am seized and flung into the pews with such a force I have never known. The collision is brutal. The old wood groans and splinters beneath my weight as the impact cracks several ribs.  I collapse to the floor, limp from shock and afraid to move.

An eerie silence descends within the church and continues undisturbed for a long moment. As the dust settles and my heart stops hammering in my ears, I wait for Satan to attack again. Only as the minutes trickle by in a strained peace I slowly become convinced that I am alone and safe once more. I sink onto the cold ground, faint with relief. A cautious breath trickles past bruised lips as the euphoria of my narrow escape threatens to overpower me. I am injured, my ribs scream when I move and there is blood seeping from a wound at my temple and clouding my left eye, but I am still alive and for that I am grateful. However when I hear cackles from the shadows, I realize with a savage lurch in my heart that I remain Satan’s prey. His approach is slow, deliberate, as he brandishes his weapon, a maniacal grin twisting his face. The impulse to crawl away is great but escaping is an impossible feat. Then, with movements quicker than I can discern, he is upon me. A pained groan sears my throat as I am tossed onto my back. Straddling me, he seizes my neck and deliberately presses his weight onto my injuries, coercing more guttural sobs as my pain is maliciously deepened.

“You are the last thing that stands between me and my war, Thomas,” he hisses, his eyes afire as he holds the blade against my cheek. Warm blood trickles from the wound. I bite my lower lip, panting shallowly through my nostrils, as I endure the unwarranted torment. “By killing you, Asmodeus will be forced into my war with the sole purpose of avenging you.” The wet blade glides down to my throat, threatening to slice my flesh. “By killing you, I shall become the rightful King of Hell.”

My eyes shut, forcing the hot tears to roll down my cheeks, and I pray fervently. Pleading with the demon would be futile. Like a cat with a mouse, Satan is allotting me a precious few moments of life because he is entertained by my vulnerability. The hopelessness filling every fiber of my being is crushing.

“Farewell, Thomas. It was so very pleasant to meet you.”

Before Satan delivers the fatal blow, the doors of the church are savagely torn apart as a deafening roar surrounds us. It pounds in my ears and makes the very floor tremble beneath me.

“Damnable fiend! How dare you betray me?” Asmodeus screams. I open my eyes in time to witness an unexplainable force propel Satan away from me. There is a violent crash on the opposite side of the church. “How dare you touch him!?”

The tremendous relief Asmodeus’ presence offers me vanishes the moment I look at him. Never before had I witnessed him so wholly enraged and in his wrath his false visage has suffered dramatically. Massive, twisted horns adorn his head like a grotesque crown, and I am filled with horror at the unswerving glimpse of the beast that dwells beneath Asmodeus’ human shell.

Satan’s fervent cackle pervades the dusty air from a far off corner of the nave, capturing my attention. “Oh, you’ve come too early, Asmo,” he complains. “I wanted to spew your whore’s lovely innards throughout this dump. The look on your face would have been priceless!”

There is a louder crash when Satan is hurled into the altar with a sickening thud. The stone gives away beneath him and for the moment he is buried beneath the wreckage. A deafening hush falls as the dust settles but I fear the confrontation is far from over.

 “Insolent whelp!” Possessed by his excessive rage, Asmodeus stalks down the nave towards the demolished alter. “I will teach you never to touch what is mine!”

Satan disentombs himself with a gleeful smile and begins to fling debris at Asmodeus which he deflects with astonishing ease. Aversion churns my stomach and I look away for I do not wish to witness Asmodeus’ degeneration. If the frenzied demons continue to use the church as a battleground, staying here will be detrimental to my wellbeing. I must leave at once.

Standing is an arduous task but my escape goes unnoticed. Within the safety of my home, my breath comes out in shallow, rickety sobs as I strive to block the hysteria that threatens to reduce my metal capabilities. I know that protection is my primary need and frantically finger through Father Norris’ journal for something that could be of help. Not long into the book he denotes the cleansing properties of salt and I stagger into the kitchen while the wind rages about the house. It carries the screams of battle and makes me shake with fear. The salt I find is minimal. There is not enough to outline every outlet so I make the excruciating retreat to my room where I sprinkle a line across the threshold and window sill. It seems such a flimsy way to bar a demon but I have no other choice.

I sink into the mattress of my bed, weakened after so much exertion. Finally the shock is tapering. As the first sparks of panic flicker within me, my strength disintegrates. My body trembles despite the pain it causes and tears flow down my face in a seemingly endless stream. I am a prisoner within my refuge and there is nothing to do but wait and see if my paltry barricade can withstand the wrath of a demon.

It could be minutes or hours that pass before the door of my chamber is thrown open and Asmodeus appears at the threshold. Though he is haggard and beaten, his disguise is once more impeccable. We stare at each other. I grip the mattress until my knuckles are white and my heart knocks against my chest. Though I ought to be glad that he has survived, there is only dread shivering inside me as I watch him attempt to enter only to be repelled as if by an invisible barrier. Betrayal makes his face grow hard as his eyes fall from mine to study the line of salt on the floor.

“What are you doing, Thomas?” His voice is low and measured as he grapples with his residual fury.

My throat tightens, making it to struggle to beg with dignity. “Go away.”

There is a low growl and then the demon is passing back and forth like a wolf before the door. His eyes never waver from mine as he gauges the situation. My resolve slowly crumbles beneath the weight of my terror but I cannot allow myself to be a pawn anymore and, with the fragments of my flagging courage, I refuse to yield. Eventually he stops moving and braces his palms upon the door frame. “Remove the salt, Thomas.”

A sob catches in my throat as I try to breath, exacerbating the discomfort in my ribcage. “Don’t make me do this.”

He does not negate his order and I am forced to the door as if pulled by hundreds of invisible strings that are knotted around my heart. I refuse to look at Asmodeus as I brush aside the line of salt half-heartedly, struggling to stay upright. My injuries are taking their toll. I can feel him watching me and once all the brine is gone, Asmodeus advances quickly. I brace for a reprimand but he is as gentle as a lamb when he cups my face in his hands.

“Thomas, my darling, are you terribly injured?"

The relief is enough to crush my fortitude and I nod, sobbing and weary after so much turmoil. His blue eyes are teeming with remorse but anger lingers at the edges as he regards my wounded face. “Oh, Thomas, I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He kisses my temple gently and then the cut on my cheek, bloodying his lips to heal me.  “I will kill him for touching you.”

“Take care,” I croak, grimacing when my flesh begins to sting unpleasantly as it mends. “I think my ribs might be fractured.”

Concern twists his browns and his hands slides slowly from my face to my bruised chest. Though his touch his careful, I feel fiery tendrils slither in between my ribcage as the internal damage is repaired.  I am still, suffering the discomfort in silence as I grip Asmodeus’ hands.

“Better?”

I am still weak and sore but eventually the searing pain fades. I offer a wordless nod and Asmodeus is swift to embrace me. A willing recipient of his affection, I bury my face his shoulder and I wrap my arms about his waist while he places kiss after kiss into my curls. His closeness and indefatigable comfort reduces the worst of my fears into mere qualms.

“Did you kill your brother?”

“No,” he says with a heavy sigh. “He ran like a coward back to Hell before I had the chance.”

I pull away in a panic, suddenly worried that the other demon is still here, thwarted for now but loitering in the shadows for another chance to attack.  “Will you follow him?”

“Yes. I cannot let him harm you without retribution, Thomas.”

“But that is what he wants you to do,” I expostulate. Despondency makes my fingers clutch his torn waistcoat as if to keep him by my side. “He wanted to kill me so you would be lured into war.”

“This is a situation I can no longer ignore, Thomas. What if he comes for you a second time and manages to kill you? I won’t stand for that. You are mine, Thomas.” Asmodeus kisses me firmly as if trying to convince himself I am still alive and I find myself touching his hair, his face, and finally his chest to feel his heart beating beneath my fingers to reassure myself that he is not an apparition sent to torment me.

“Will you return? Is this a war your certain to win?”

My question catches him unawares. It is startling how one honest look is enough to expose the truth I have stubbornly ignored for so long. Resentment is bolstering and I push against him but he is as unmovable as a boulder. “You cannot do that, Asmodeus!” I rage while tears blur my vision. “You cannot abandon me so callously after you’ve completely ruined my career and destroyed everything I once held so dear.”

Asmodeus was content to suffer my frustration but my confession wounds him. He looks as if I have struck him in the face and his embrace slackens enough so that I am able to escape. I am not ambitious with my new found freedom and merely retreat to my bed my head cradled in my hands. I feel too encumbered by my sobering reality that I feel as though I might topple over if I remain standing for much longer. Asmodeus follows closely and sinks to his knees before me, desperately grasping my hands. For a moment, my resentment is tenacious and I loathe the contact.

“Oh, Thomas, my love,” he whispers thickly, repeatedly pressing his warm lips onto my fingers, my knuckles, the palms of my hands. “I will not abandon you. You have my word.”

I gulp and attempt to quell my anger. It’s too difficult at the moment to even consider what I should do next but my weary brain tries and I am assailed with a wave of guilt and shame. Asmodeus pulls me from my depressing thoughts by squeezing my fingers with his. “Will you look at me?” Despite the feeling that I might weep if I do, I look at my demon. “I will return, Thomas, because I love you. I love you more than I can say.”

Disbelief strikes me so profoundly that my bones reverberate with Asmodeus’ confession. Wordlessly, I shake my head and try to rebuff him though it feels like his words have opened a battered dam within my own heart. In my confusion, I lash out. “Do not lie to me, Asmodeus. How can you love me when you are nothing but a reckless flirt who trifles with me?”

“I do love you, Thomas,” he insists softly. “Please do not begrudge me that emotion.”

“Because of you I am completely unfit to serve God. Because of you I can no longer be the priest I once was,” I lament. “If I didn’t love you so much, Asmodeus, I would positively hate you.” For a moment, Asmodeus’ eloquent tongue struck speechless for the first time since I have known him. “Now can you see what a fix you have put me in? Can you even understand my plight, Asmodeus, or does it seem inconsequential to you?”

He reaches up to cup my face in his hand and I find myself leaning into the gentle touch. “I am not solely without pity for your situation, Thomas, but I have never once held your convictions. They are unknown to me as Hell is unknown to you but I do know I am sorry for ever causing you distress. I wish only to see you happy.”

“I’ll be happy when you return.”

The corners of his mouth turn up in a feeble smile. “As will I.”

I sniffle pitifully, feeling raw after such an onslaught of emotions. “When will you leave?”

“As soon as possible.”

Suddenly my world becomes limited. I wish only to savor what little time we have remaining and not dwell on such a miserable reality or my inconsolable heart. I cradle Asmodeus’ face with my hands. Our eyes lock a moment and I take my time as if memorizing every little detail of him before my vision becomes muddled with tears.

“I want you to kiss me, Asmodeus,” I whisper and he obeys, surging up to press his lips against mine. He behaves as desperate as I feel. In the darkness our clothes are stripped away with practiced ease between frantic kisses and I welcome his naked body upon my own as his weight presses me into the narrow mattress. My legs part with minimal guidance and my thighs eagerly slide over the hot body that rests between them.

Asmodeus is untiring as he worships me. Every inch of my skin becomes tender from the pleasurable employment of his lips and tongue as his fingers graze my entrance, slowly slipping inside until I am beside myself with desperation. I’m so impatient to have him inside me that my coveting hands grip his brawny shoulders, my nails pressing into his skin as if to tell him without words how much I need him. Finally he settles over me, his forehead pressed against my own, as his forearms come to rest beside my head. His kisses are as long and languid as I am yearning. While I cherish his warm weight above me, the feeling of his strong arms around me, his closeness, his scent, I need to be his - to be his toy, his plaything, his most precious friend, his love – and with a thrust of his hips, my gnawing need is sated.  

“You’re mine, Thomas. You will always be mine.”

It’s a pleasant fate I want to embrace but there is one lingering condition and I whisper a new contract against his lips. “Only if you are mine as well, Asmodeus.”

“Yes.”

We seal it with a kiss. However our bittersweet lovemaking cannot last forever and all too soon the night is gone. Asmodeus wakes me in the twilight of a far off dawn. I arouse from my slumber slowly and peer with bleary eyes to find him fully dressed and scowl with displeasure. Consciousness it not something I wish for but the tender kiss upon my brow is welcomed.

“Good morning, darling,” he murmurs, his voice oddly cheerful despite our somber situation. “Do you still have the keys to my chains?”

I nod as if in a daze, sleep unwilling to unhand my brain, and sit up. I had returned the key to its former place within the desecrated bible and fetch it for him, unsure if he could touch the object. Asmodeus’ hand strokes long, lingering lines up and down my back and I find myself wondering who his touch is meant to comfort.

“And the chains are still were we left them?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He takes the key and pulls me into an embrace, kissing my temple. “I must leave but before I go, will you look after this for me?” Much to my surprise he is offering his beautiful sapphire ring.

“Of course,” I murmur automatically. I take the gift carefully as if it was as fragile as a baby bird and hold it in the palm of my hand.  “Please be safe, Asmodeus.”

“Of course, my love.” With a playful wink, he vanishes in a cloud of smoke.

Alone, I sigh and climb out of bed. Sometime during the night my grief has turned into a determined resolve. I dress, pocket Asmodeus’ ring for it’s too large to wear, and pack as quickly as my trembling hands would allow. I write two letters, one for Mrs. Ashby which I leave in the kitchen, and one for Asmodeus which I leave at his home before I depart for Rome. 

 

* * *

 

“Thomas, won’t you keep me company awhile?” My sister’s sweet voice momentarily deflects my melancholy as I peer upon the gloomy weather from the window in her morning room. The chilly rain has fallen incessantly for days now in East Sussex, and even though it befits my mood it also aggravates it.

While I had been hopeful that Asmodeus’ return would be immediate, my despondency has grown over the passing weeks and I seek solitude to console my unhappy heart while the demon’s absence persists. I do not know if Asmodeus lives or has died so I linger in an uncomfortable limbo for any word that could end this terrible interval. If he has truly died in battle, my future seems a lonely and desolate path that I do not wish to walk at the moment. However if the war has turned in Satan’s favor, I rationalize judiciously, I do believe this world would undergo dire changes and there is nothing extraordinary about the dreary autumn weather in Brighton.  

I shake myself as if the act would disperse my depressing thoughts and join my sister, a lovely vision in her flounced morning frock, at the pianoforte. I force a smile for her sake and promptly check my pessimism for her sake.

“My apologies, Emma,” I say. “I expect you did not anticipate such a morose brother when you asked me to join you at your home. I own that I find that this continuous downpour rather discouraging.”

Her own smile is sympathetic as she taps the keys on the piano softly, playing an ephemeral melody. At six and twenty, Emma has married and buried a husband. He was a good, affluent man in his prime when they were wedded eight years prior but suffered an unexpected stroke that rendered her a young widow. She was left with a young son as well as her independence on account of Mr. Harrison’s fortune that he earned from his marine industries and remains a kind and lovely young woman despite her early hardship.

“I am always more than happy to play hostess for you, my dear, no matter what your mood,” she reassures me with a smile. “But are you sure it’s merely the inclement weather and not Father’s strop that has you so downtrodden?”

I shrug quietly. Though I wish to unburden my heart, divulging the truth is an impossible undertaking. “It’s not Father. I have grown used to the idea that I will never be his favorite son,” I say to divert her attention.

When I had returned home my father had been pleased for he had never encouraged my choice of vocation. His initial delight, however, did tapper when he realized how hesitant I was to apply myself towards his chosen career as a clerk so I was grateful to receive a letter from my sister and absconded to her country home outside of Brighton to spare myself my father’s silent contempt.

“Father puts too much emphasis on money and status while you have always had the altruistic calling to nurture and care for people less fortunate than yourself. I believe that is a better quality to have for it has made you one of the finest people I know. You, Thomas, are nonpareil.”

“You only say that because I’m your brother,” I tease but my sister’s guileless compliments have warmed my cheeks nevertheless.

“Oh, you know very well that is rubbish!”

“So, you do not think me a failure for leaving the priesthood?” It seems impossible for my sister to feel such a negative emotion but I fret over her opinion of me nonetheless. If I have diminished myself in her eyes in anyway, I could not bear it.

Emma stops playing the piano and wraps her arm through mine. She clings to it tightly and consoles me with a kiss on my cheek. “Of course not, dearest Thomas. I wish nothing but your happiness wherever that may be.”

I am momentarily cheered by her words of encouragement. “Thank you, Emma.”

“Ah, but I do believe something else is bothering you. I can tell it in your eyes but I will not pry. I merely hope one day you will be able to take me within your confidences if it means easing your troubles a little.”

“What have I done to deserve such a sister?” I ask, returning the kiss.

She laughs and jabs me in the ribs with her elbow. “You are lucky you were born third and have two wonderful siblings to watch over you. If Matthew were available, I’m positive he would have joined us but, alas, work has made him a busy man in London.”

“You have done more than enough, Emma. Do not fret on my account.”

“It’s in my nature to fret. If you wish to remain here in Brighton,” she adds cautiously, “I have already taken the liberty of discerning several advertisements in the paper for schoolmasters and tutors. With your capacious education, I think those positions will suit you very well.”

I smile and try to look pleased but any thought of a future without Asmodeus is a painful one to contemplate. Emma notices my disingenuous interest and quickly amends, “Of course, you do not have to decide right now, my dear. You have just left the priesthood and it will do your spirits some good to enjoy a sojourn.”

“Thank you for understanding, Emma.”


	12. Chapter 12

The following weeks pass in unremitting peace. I regale with my beloved sister and nephew in the autumnal countryside but Asmodeus is never absent from my thoughts. In the dead of night I manage to convince myself that it is time for progression but I wake each morning with a heart stubbornly clinging to the hope that he will return. I know, however, that I cannot continue to rely upon the unwavering support of my sister and bury my anxiety beneath hours of tireless research for a teaching position so that I may begin to earn my own income.

“What do you think about this one, brother?” Since the end of breakfast we have been searching _The Chronicle_ in the bright morning parlor like a pair of starved foxes. “It’s in Hove,” she exclaims. “We can practically be neighbors!”

My sister’s delight is infectious and I smile.  “I shall write to them immediately.”

Emma looks as though she has more to say but a polite rap at the door interrupts our assembly. We look up in unison as Mr. Arnold, the aged butler of the household, enters and discreetly presents Emma with a calling card. She stares at it a long moment, utterly bewildered for the proper visiting hours had not yet begun. “I have no recollection of an acquaintance by the name of Mr. Anthony Lewis,” she murmurs to herself.

Recognizing the notorious surname, I sit up straighter to get a better look at the card. The gold script is so elaborate that the name is almost unreadable.

“I took the liberty of leaving the gentleman in the foyer. Shall I show him out?”

“Wait, please. I am familiar with the last name. He might be an acquaintance of mine from Cotswold.” I hurry to the door, my heart thundering within my chest, before I remember myself. “I’m sorry, Emma, but might I have the privilege of using your study a moment?”

“Of course, dear.”

Beelzebub, sober and modish in gray trousers, cerise frock coat, and a neat cravat, is too fascinated by the large bouquet adorning the table in the middle of the lobby to notice my entrance at first. I come to a stop when I catch sight of the demon as if all my energy has been pilfered. Happiness swells within me and I quickly search for Asmodeus however when I realize Beelzebub has come alone dread takes root in the pit of my stomach. I slump against the wall with the Lord's name slipping from my lips. That catches Beelzebub’s attention almost immediately. Yet when I fear the worst, a wide grin pulls at the demon’s mouth and he offers an overly cheerful, “Well, good morning, Thomas.”

“Oh, you stupid devil,” I chide. If Asmodeus is dead surely his brother would not be so jolly. I march over to Beelzebub and embrace him out of my immense relief. The demon chuckles and accepts the welcome, his hands pressing against my back. “Please tell me Asmodeus is alive,” I whisper fervently in his ear.

“Of course, dear. He is occupied at the moment but he sends his love.”

“Oh, thank the Lord,” I sigh, mollified for the moment. “Please come with me into the study. Let’s we can talk uninterrupted there.”

Emma’s study is a neat, private apartment that I know no one will venture to breach. Once inside the four book-laden walls we are at liberty to disclose certain matters that are better left implicit in mixed company. Settling himself into a large leather armchair, Beelzebub stretches and admits, “I must say that it was devilishly hard to find you, Thomas. I did not expect to find you gone from Cotswold.”

“How exactly did you manage it?” I ask, shutting the door. In the months of Asmodeus absence, it feels as though my journey has taken me all over England and the Continent.

Beelzebub pulls out a worn letter from within his coat and holds it up for inspection. “The letter you left my brother took me to London first. Only when I went to collect you, I was met with the unforeseen discovery that you were already long gone. So Asmo’s ring did the rest,” Beelzebub informs me. “But that is all in the past and not nearly as important nor as engaging as you. I feel as though I ought to commend you, Thomas, for brown certainly suits you better than your habitual black.”

I’m bewildered a moment but am quick to remember that no one aside from my family knows of my recent exoneration. Now dressed as the son of a wealthy businessman, I am suddenly subjected to a spell of discomfiture. “I have not worn the vestments of a priest since I left the order.”

It’s now the demon’s turn to look baffled but his recovery is swift. “Though that might upset our plans somewhat, I think congratulations are in order.”

My patience buckles beneath his customary facetiousness. With a war going on I had expected the demon to exhibit far more concern. “What do you mean plans, Beelzebub? What’s Asmodeus doing? How fares the war?”

Beelzebub waves a hand as if to ward off my questions, amusement flashing in his luminous eyes. “The war went surprising well so you have no need to worry, Thomas,” he reassures me. “Levia poisoned Satan with an arrow.”

I cannot keep the incredulity from my voice when I ask, “An arrow?”

“She’s a _very_ good shot so I would refrain from challenging her to an archery contest, Thomas.  The poison weakened Satan long enough for Asmo to lock that bastard up and now the elders must keep him in Sheol as a punishment. For being so little, the bastard sure does have a lot of pluck.” He gestures dramatically towards me. “And then that’s where you come in, my dear.”

“Me? What could you possibly need me for?”

“Asmo wants to try a sigil for additional security but we all agree that it’s probably not the most advantageous thing one demon can do to another.”

It takes a moment for Beelzebub’s words to sink in. “You mean for me to go to hell? And use the key of Solomon?”

“Yes. That’s it exactly.”

Fainthearted, I employ the use of a chair to keep from falling over. “I don’t know if I can do that,” I admit softly, hands braced upon my knees. My limbs tingle as if my blood has suddenly turned into sludge within my veins and it’s difficult to draw a proper breath.

“It’s worth a shot, don’t you think? The chains are decent but Lucifer fears they not at indestructible. If it doesn’t work, I suppose we could just toss Satan into a vat of salt for a millennia and see how that works.”

“You are oddly calm about this.”

“I’m just relieved the bloody war is over. Now, will you come? Asmo is looking forward to seeing you again.”

Never once have I ever thought I would willingly go to hell with a demon and the magnitude of the situation renders me speechless so I can only offer the slightest of nods. If I cast my attention upon my long awaited reunion with Asmodeus, the daunting excursion seems almost viable.

“Wonderful.” Beelzebub is the epitome of charm when he grins. “We ought to depart immediately. It would probably raise some suspicions if we leave through the fireplace so I have a carriage ready to take us to a gateway.”

The pace at which my fate is being sealed is unnerving. “Let me say my farewells and prepare a valise, then I shall be ready to depart,” I say insipidly before walking towards the door, my head spinning. Never before have I been so glad for my studious nature. While I was in Rome I seized my last opportunity to scavenge the massive library for any article concerning the cryptic grimoire and had made several copies to use for future study.

I hear Beelzebub scoff behind me and murmur, “Asmodeus will have you naked most of the time, so why bother with clothes?”

I give the demon a withering glare. “Ten minutes.”

Though my sister is a baffled by the sudden appearance of a stranger in her household, I inform her that he is a friend of a friend who asks for my company while he rests upon his sick bed. She is sympathetic and does not begrudge me for leaving so unexpectedly. We walk together to the entrance of her home, arms entwined, as she says, “I will pray for your friend’s swift recovery, Thomas.”

“Thank you, Emma,” I reply, kissing her cheek gently. “I will write to you as soon as I can.”

Beelzebub is already in the carriage, an exquisite phaeton drawn by a matching pair. In normal circumstances such a site would have been impressive but impatience has left me little time to admire it. I join the demon and, with a final wave to my sister, we set off with a swift crack of the leather reigns. The horses are massive beasts that pull the phaeton with surprising speed down the gravel avenue away from my sister’s home.

“Where is this gateway you spoke of?”

“Oh, anywhere out of sight will be suitable,” Beelzebub responds blithely. Within minutes we are surrounded by the wet, unspoiled countryside of East Sussex. He eventually stops the horses with a quiet murmur of, “This ought to do.” He hands me the leather reigns, and gracefully leaps from the bench to the ground. Bemused, I watch him fetch a long stick from the closest, mottled thicket, and, with the end of the provisional cane, carve a large circle into the mud before returning to the carriage.

“You will love this trick,” he tells me with a wink. Once the reigns are back in his hands, he whispers a strange word that causes the circle on the ground to shudder. Slowly but steadily the farthest end rises towards the gloomy sky until I am peering into an endless black void. “Let me show you my home, Thomas,” he quietly says, urging the horses along.

I’m not sure what I am expecting on the other side of the suspended abyss. My education emphasized the fiery atmosphere and torturous conditions but in actuality Hell has an oddly moribund atmosphere. It a quiet, cold world where twilight seems predominant and the white mist hovering over the terrain is infinite. Landscape is craggy and desolate, full of jutting, dark rocks, and trees, though plump with foliage, are gnarled and twisted. In the distance there are mountains that rise up with no end in sight and I am vividly reminded of the times I spent in the Scottish Highlands as a child.

“It’s so empty, Beelzebub. Where is everyone? Everything?” Hell ought to be the final terminus for an innumerable amount of mortal souls as well as legions of demons but there is nothing but a vast, lonely realm beyond the safety of the carriage.

“Be nice, Thomas. The war has made our home a bleak place,” Beelzebub says and draws my attention. Forgoing all pretenses, the demon is now a macabre warlord beside me. His ebony armor is sinister with numerous sweeping spikes embellishing his gardbraces and his bullish horns are polished steel against his wild black plaits. I gape and the urge to breathe is waylaid momentarily. Beelzebub offers me a crooked smile. Almost immediately my equanimity returns and I allot the demon a scowl of displeasure which makes him cackle wickedly.

“The war forced everyone to seek shelter but they will return in good time,” he says while we are carried through a dark gorge.  The sound of the wheels turning upon the dirt and the horses’ steady hooves ricocheting between the serrated walls are the only noise to disturb the silence for I find myself unable to carry the conversation. Finally the road leads us to another lonesome valley where a monolithic citadel engulfs the mountain range on the right. The sheer size of the stone city makes me shiver. Our journey comes to an end before the metropolis’ singular set of wide, winding steps that a lone figure descends.

“Ah, there’s my old buddy come to greet us. How’s everything, Gabriel?”

The beautiful creature, sheathed in gold plated armor with a helmet with a knife-like top piece, says nothing. Suddenly there is a ball of dread in the pit of my stomach. If the demons sought aid from their adversaries, surely the war hadn’t been as easy an affair as Beelzebub had implied. I turn on the demon. “You required reinforcements?”

“When things got tough, Belphegor pleaded with Michael and Gabriel to help us,” Beelzebub tells me as he jumps from the carriage. I slowly follow suit. “Out of all of us, he is the only one who keeps in contact with our angelic brethren.”

“It was decided that it would be beneficial for both sides that Satan be detained,” the archangel explains quietly.

I watch the demon round the horses and stroll up the steps, passing the stoic angel with a sound clap on the back on his back. I stand a moment, brooding upon my luck or my misfortune for having encountered both a demon and an angel within the wastelands of Hell and my resolves begins to splinter. I focus on breathing deeply to calm my beating heart instead and follow the demon up long staircase into the citadel. My eyes are locked on the chiseled steps so I do not stare like a simpleton at the bright archangel trailing silently behind me.

The vaulted foyer directly inside the citadel is a dark carven, devoid of life until Leviathan and Belphegor emerge from a side chamber to stand, anxious and weary in their leather jerkins, at its threshold. I had always assumed that their youth would keep them away from the horror of war but the weapons at their sides and their bloodstained clothes reveal otherwise. Both, however, seemed to be unharmed.

“Good morning, children,” Beelzebub greets them. “Is everything still in order?”

Leviathan nods, her hand gripping the shoulder of her petulant younger brother. “Of course it is,” she says irritably, the fire in her eyes unvanquished.

“Wonderful. A few more hours and then we will have ourselves a nice celebration. Behave yourselves until then.”

Beelzebub escorts us throughout the castle without any discernible difficulty. Everywhere I look, however, I see innumerable halls made of black stone and soon become confused and intimidated by the breadth of the city.

“Beelzebub, what is this place?”

“This is Azal. It’s a communal domain where all the princes come and discuss issues if need be,” he explains. “It’s wholly neutral and removed from everyone’s jurisdiction until now I suppose. Mammon and Levia cleaved Sheol from the bowels of the mountain and that’s where we are going.”

A shudder runs through me. “What is Sheol exactly?”

“A prison,” Beelzebub replies grimly.

Our expedition inevitably begins to wind downwards. It soon grows darker and colder the longer we descended into the yawning, black void below the keep by way of a perilous staircase that seems to have been gashed out of the stone with haste instead of diligence in mind. Though my taciturn guards seem capable of walking in such thick darkness, Gabriel summons little spheres of effervescent light for my benefit. The damp coldness is inescapable and I shiver as I shadow the demon further into the oppressive darkness. I lose track of time and just when I think I might collapse from exhaustion our downward trek is over. At the bottom of the stairwell, there is a massive door fortified with a web of intertwining metal rings with an elaborate lock positioned at the center.

Anxiety arises from the pit of my stomach and it soon becomes quite difficult to breathe the cold, stale air. “I won’t have to see Satan, will I?”

“Of course not, dear,” the demon replies as the door unlocks with a wave of his hand. I hear the peal of metallic bolts retracting while cogs clang in a metallic symphony as they turn. The door slowly swings opens, revealing a dark, seemingly endless tunnel. “He’s stowed away with the elders so you can make the picture on his cellar’s floor.”

“All right,” I say with a sigh as I grip my valise closer to my body as if the protective prayers within my books would steel my resolve. We step into the bleak dungeon and walk through the twisting labyrinth until we come upon the lone cell located at the end of the passage. “Take as much time as you need,” Beelzebub says as he opens the steel door for me. “I need to check on the others but Gabriel will remain to watch over you.”

I nod quietly which draws a bubble of warm laughter from the demon. “Come on, Thomas. Don’t look so grave.”

“I wish I was as confident in my abilities as you seem to be.”

“We always have that backup plan, dear.” With a wink, Beelzebub departs and I gather my nerve and begin to work. I step inside the dark cell and sit my valise on the ground, rummaging through it to retrieve Father Norris’ journal and my tracings. There are so many designs that I eventually settle on the simplest one and pray that it be sufficient enough to hold a demon as power and malignant as Satan.

“May I have more light, sir?”

With a diminutive gesture from the silent guardian, more iridescent orbs appear to hover weightlessly in mid-air. I sit down and contemplate each part of the intricate sigil before searching for a piece of chalk. Tentatively, I begin to draw the symbol large enough to encompass the entire floor of the cell. Uncertainty that this endeavor will be as successful as the demons hope is an inevitability but I discover that my confidence strengthens the longer I toil. The orbs move like leaves caught upon a wave as I work and eventually come to a standstill when I pause to assess the design. By now most of my supply of chalk is depleted and my body is achy from crouching on the ground for so long but nevertheless I am satisfied with my rendition of the emblem.

“Well, that’s a very familiar sign,” a voice interrupts me and I look towards the door. Asmodeus, horned and dressed in the same intimidating set of armor as his brother, lounges carelessly against the threshold. He looks exhausted but at ease and my heart soars into my throat as I smile at him. However I am quick to check my swelling joy before I abandon my project.

“Do you think it will work?”

Asmodeus shrugs and pulls himself away from the door and into the chamber. “There is only one way to find out.” Upon seeing my querulous frown, he continues, “If I’m trapped, smudge a bit of the outline and that should be enough to free me.” He steps onto the rudimentary diagram, mindful not to disturb the chalk and I watch pensively as he comes to a halt almost immediately. He shudders, his expression irritated and bilious. “The damned thing is just as nasty as I remember.”

“Is it working?”

“Very much so. Now be a dear, Thomas, and break the seal.”

A tiny breach in the outer circle of the sigil is enough to render its power invalid. Free from the enchantment, he advances towards me quickly, making my heart flutter like a nervous bird within my chest. He draws me to my feet as if I weigh nothing, and greets me with an excessively welcoming kiss. Despite the unpleasant situation and our location, I am unable to feel anything but unequivocal happiness as I reunite with my demon.

“Oh, Thomas, I have missed you.”

Though I would love to embrace him, his horns and thick armor create a foreboding front so I am resigned to place another kiss upon his mouth. “I’ve missed you too,” I confess, smiling and pressing another kiss into his cheek. “Do you think you can set the seal into the floor so it will not be disturbed?”

In truth Asmodeus looks as though he has no desire to remove himself from my attendance but agrees nonetheless with a sullen scowl. After I rectify the design, Asmodeus presses his fingers into the ground and the rock sizzles angrily as the emblem is branded upon it. When he straightens up I soon become am sick with fright as I see him falter and am immediately at his side.

“Asmodeus **,** are you all right?”

“Yes,” he insists though his voice is heavy with exhaustion and the black shadows beneath his sunken eyes are disturbingly prominent. “I’m spent. War is bloody exhausting.”

“You need to rest,” I urge before a commotion further down the passageway garners our immediate attention. Seemingly recovered from his fatigue, Asmodeus grabs my belongings before he pulls me from of the chamber in time to witness a heavily reinforced ensemble of soldiers escorting their captive.

The two demons leading the sepulchral progression are grim, intimidating sentinels, too ancient and ethereal to be considered remotely human despite their corporeal exterior. Protruding from their skulls are massive antlers with innumerable, twisted spikes. Satan walks behind them, muzzled and struggling against his heavy chains in vain. His eyes are enraged and he is screaming though the sound is muffled. Two archangels and Beelzebub follow the prisoner closely. Once upon the lone chamber, Satan is shoved inside with very little ceremony.  As he steps onto the symbol, he freezes and begins to howl wildly, his fury incited at the revocation of his freedom. One of the demons slams the door shut and locks it before turning towards her brethren; her glance towards me is brief.

“Lucifer, Asmodeus, you may leave,” she instructs in the low, wearied voice. Though her beauty is regal, her lips and cheeks are ashen, and her deep-set eyes are lifeless, either from the crusade or from her interminable lifetime. “I’ll guard the traitor for now. Michael, Gabriel, inform your king that Satan will be our prisoner for the foreseeable future.”

Asmo inclines his head towards his sister and I am his crutch as we walk down the tunnel. Behind us, Beelzebub aids the elder demon Lucifer, the heavenly soldiers vanish in wisps of shimmering light, and Mammon is left to guard the solitary prisoner in the cold darkness.

“Well, that was rather simple,” Beelzebub comments, his cheerfulness at odds with the gloomy atmosphere, and Asmodeus growls in irritation.

When we reach the entrance of the prison, Asmodeus pauses to look at the door unkindly.  “All those bloody stairs.” He bites his thumb hard enough to draw blood and smears it quickly across the door with an incantation lilting his breath. When he throws the door open, there is a warmly lit room on the other side rather than the narrow flight of stone steps I had been anticipating. The unexpected sight is marvelous but my attention is deflected when Asmodeus staggers, his consciousness flickering. Before we are given to chance to fall, we are heaved forward over the threshold with a startling amount of strength. It is a wiry, green goblin dressed in long, embroidered tunic that has come to Asmodeus’ aid.

“At ease, Thomas,” he says, his gruff voice gentle but slightly familiar, as he stares at with him large, liquescent eyes. “I’ll take over from here.”

I come to a standstill and in my astonishment I let the goblin guide Asmodeus across the chamber to the enormous, canopied bed. I dawdle, horribly aware of my wretched ineptitude and lay my valise upon one of the many supple chairs that gather around the smoldering fire pit. Beyond the black flagstones that surround the well, rich dark wood made both the floor and the gilded ceiling. Betwixt thick pillars, creamy marble interlaced with slender threadlike veins of gold surround me on all four sides of the chamber. It a surprising beautiful and comfortable room but I am in no mood to enjoy its inviting atmosphere while the valet expertly strips Asmodeus of his heavy armor and chainmail. For all its sinister beauty, it is discarded into the floor without care until Asmodeus is clad only in his simple cotton tunic and trousers. Exhaustion makes the princely demon bad-tempered, however, and he growls as his valet continues to fuss over him.

“Leave me be, Maurice.” I stare, taken aback by the butler’s true form.  Displeasure clouds Maurice’ face as he executes a terse bow before skulking out of the chamber while Asmodeus falls upon the bed with a tired groan.

I quietly edge closer to the lounging demon, enamored by his magnificent build swathed in his disheveled attire and the way his long mane lies across the bedclothes like think black ropes, and eventually sit upon edge of the plush mattress. I grip my hands in my lap and scour by lower lip with my teeth until the delicate skin is rendered tender. Asmodeus seems so fatigued that I hesitate to disturb him but I worry about his wellbeing as any other lover would rightfully be. “Will you be all right, Asmodeus?”

The demon pulls his hands away from his eyes and gives me a tired smile. “Of course. Nothing a little rest won’t cure, darling,” he asserts but I remain skeptical. He reaches across the space that separates us to grab ahold of my hand, a smirk twisting up a corner of his mouth, and I am easily drawn to his side for a kiss. His lips are gentle, luring me into a peaceful reverie as his mouth moves languidly against mine until sleep claims Asmodeus once more. Eyes stinging with unshed tears, I tuck myself into Asmodeus’ side and hold him. Laying there and listening to the melody of his beating heart and even breaths would have been a wonderful reward had there not been knock at the door to interrupt me. Beelzebub steps into the room, bright-eyed and dressed in his habitual, bejeweled attire.

“Dead to the world I see,” he comments with a grin when he spies Asmodeus within the cozy recess. “I’m not surprised.”

“Will he be alright? How long will he be asleep?”

Beelzebub shrugs and I cannot help but be irritated at his nonchalance. “A day? A week? No one ever really knows the answer. He used a lot of his power and when demons do that only sleep can replenish it.”

I look back at Asmodeus and tightly clutch his hand within mine. “So he will recover?”

“Have no worries, Thomas. Your demon shall recover,” he says gently. “We are serving dinner in the dining hall. Care for a bite to eat?”

Though I have not eaten since breakfast, I find myself uninterested in food. In fact I have no desire to leave the demon now that he is at my side after such a long and taxing separation. “No, thank you. I’d rather remain here for a moment if you don’t mind, Beelzebub.”

“Of course. I’ll have Maurice since a tray of food up for you. Now, you are within Asmo’s palace at the moment but I’ve enchanted that door,” Beelzebub says, pointing to the main entrance. “Two twists of the knob will break the enchantment and you can wander Asmo’s palace to your heart’s content but beware of the succubi. One twist and you can walk into the main keep should you need anything. If you get lonely, be a dear and seek me out.” He departs with a saucy wink.

Beelzebub’s mischievousness lifts my spirits momentarily. My gaze returns to Asmodeus, a heavy sigh falling from my lips, and for a long while I am perfectly content to watch the prince sleep. Aside from looking overtly tired, I am thankful he is uninjured.

Eventually I cannot ignore my need to touch him and succumb.  I carefully caress the pads of my thumbs across the back of his hands and then across the range of his knobby knuckles before I remember the ring, which I have used as talisman ever since the morning Asmodeus left Cotswold, in my pocket. I return his ring to its rightful place on the middle finger of his left hand before I straighten his tunic across his chest, appreciating the feel of his solid build beneath my hands, and cover his pale cheeks with gentle kisses. My restless fingers find themselves quite entangled within Asmodeus’ glossy locks and I cosset each of the heavy braids with the utmost care. They are in intricately intertwined with lengths of gold and silver and a leather strap adorned with tiny diamonds and sapphires clamps the end of each glossy cable. From the dark cascade of his hair, I consider his horns. The gray bones are as smooth and lustrous as marble. Beginning above his temples, they curve upwards gracefully with a steady spiral ridge that I trace indulgently before pulling my hands guiltily.

In an attempt to engage in an activity that would allow Asmodeus to sleep undisturbed by the incessant touches of a lover, I focus my attention outside the comfortable alcove and am soon enticed by the multiple bookcases adorning the walls. While some of the shelves hold leather bound books, other display wonderful artifacts that pluck my curiosity. While Harwood Park was impeccably kept by its master, it served as a grandiose testament of his wealth and power. This chamber, on the other hand, emanates an air of intimacy for it has been embellished with tokens that either hint at Asmodeus’ impossibly long life or expose his character before my eyes. Despite the undeniable opulence that is etched into every surface, it feels safe, warm, and comfortable. Pulled from the coziness of the canopied bed, I wander about aimlessly, lost in my thoughts and my surroundings, and eventually come to a door nestled in the corner of the room between two carved pillars. There is a bathing chamber on the other side of the door, beautiful and lavish with more dark wood and marble with a massive golden tub that hollows out the center of the floor. However, my attention is allocated the main door of the bedchamber as Maurice returns, effortlessly carrying a laden tray.

“Your dinner, sir,” he announces, sitting his burden down on a low table before the fire pit. He seems a little inquisitive when he locates me hiding in the corner of the great chamber and suddenly I feel guilty for prying. “I’ll draw you a bath presently,” he says with a flourish of a green hand. Curious, I look back see the pool slowly fill with water.  “Thank you, Maurice.”

“You are welcome, sir,” he replies before quietly slipping from the room. I settle on a plush rug, my legs folded beneath me, and pick at my dinner. Even if home is impossibly far away, Maurice has conjured a thoroughly English fare. I know I ought to be hungry for my pocket watch reveals the time to be rather advanced but I find myself too bewildered by everything that has transpired since this morning to work up a proper appetite.

When the delicious morsels no longer interest me, I wander into the bathing chamber to find that the water in still quite warm and pleasant to the touch. I strip without thought and slowly ease my body into the scented water, eager to wash away the grime obtained from the cell. Before too long, however, the wonderful warmth causes my eyes to droop and I am forced to heave myself from the tub before I allow myself to fall asleep there. It’s a delight to find freshly laundered clothes where my soiled garments sat. I slip the flowing plum-colored gown over my head and feel the hem brush against my naked toes. Though the design of the garment is simple with very little decoration, the fabric is so remarkably light and sumptuous that I can’t keep from running my fingers down the bell-shaped sleeves.

As the water drains from the tub, I creep back into the bedchamber, the floor unexpectedly warm beneath my feet. A furtive glance towards the bed informs me that Asmodeus, cleansed and redressed in a similar gown, still rests. I scour the chamber for a blanket that, once found, I wrap myself up in and retreat to a sofa where I fall asleep to the mantra of slow, even breaths and the crackling of wood.


	13. Chapter 13

I wait inside the quiet bedchamber for the next two days. I divide my time alternating between caring for the insentient demon, though I cannot do much, and reading one of the many books within Asmodeus’ collection that are written in the languages I known and are not wholly dedicated to corporeal pleasures. We are entirely undisturbed aside from Maurice who brings me wonderful meals although worry makes me a bad connoisseur. Locked within an impermeable sleep, Asmodeus is unnaturally still and does not eat nor drink. He suffers no outward sign of malnutrition though I fret regardless. Fortunately the butler is kind enough to inform me that a demon of Asmodeus’ standing could live for an innumerable amount of years with nothing to survive on.

“Though it’s not pleasant, it is feasible.”

At once I am reminded of his decade long imprisonment and I am sick with disgust. Surely Father Norris was not the sort of man to provide his quarry with many comforts.

On the third day, a visitor breaches our sanctum. Belphegor drifts in after lunch unannounced and enquires if I would like to play a card game with him. His sudden arrival makes me mindful of the increasing loneliness within my heart and I concede with a smile. We play faro as quietly as possible by the fire pit, and, though I find Belphegor’s inconspicuous presence refreshing, discontent has dampened his clever demeanor. I am stopped from prying when Levia appears and quickly joins in on the game. Belphegor is ruthless and easily crushes the pair of us. An hour later, he complains that we are not engaging enough for him to waste any more time with sulks from the room.

“Do not be upset with him, Thomas. He is merely unhappy.” Her sad eyes focused on the fire as if she is recalling a faint memory.  A sad memory. An ancient memory. A memory, perhaps, I ought not to know. “When we severed our ties with heaven, we were without remorse except Belphegor. We were proud and foolish. Mammon thought God would surely kill us for our disobedience. Instead, we were given an ultimatum.  If all seven of us left, we could live. If even one of us stayed, we would all forfeit our lives. So we chose to fall. Belphegor has sacrificed a lot to keep his siblings alive and I fear the angels’ presence has reopened that wound.”

Levia departs soon afterwards, leaving me to brood upon the misfortune of the youngest prince.

On the fourth day of my vigil, I put aside my personal plight when I remember my sister with a pang of regret. I apologetically ask for Maurice for a paper and a quill so that I may write a letter to her when a thorough exploration in Asmodeus’ room yields no such items. Though I feel guilty for lying to Emma, I know that telling her the incredulous truth would be exceedingly unwise. I quickly write of an uneventful return to Cotswold and inform her that I will stay with my friend until he is once more well. My hand pauses a moment as I look towards Asmodeus, the tip of my tongue worrying my lower lip.  

_I do not know when my friend will recover so the length of my stay is irresolute. Do not fret, sister. I have arrived safely and I will write to you again soon._

I seal my letter, address it to Emma, and give it to Maurice, expressing that the letter should be delivered within the coming days.

I bide my time patiently, not wishing to trouble the other demons when they have a homeland to rebuild but my acute loneliness is too stubborn a sentiment to ignore. When the silence and my own disquiet becomes too much to bear, I leave the bedchamber and quietly wander Asmodeus’ palace, daunted by its size as well as its strange occupants. Just as Beelzebub had predicted, the subjects of Hell had gradually returned. Asmodeus’ minions are delicate nymphs with almond shaped, black eyes and skin the color of ripened cherries. They cover themselves in gossamer gowns and wear their dark tresses in intricate plaits that fall like ropes down their slender backs or about their shoulders like a shawl. They are beautiful, their naked limbs graceful and supple as they dance in the hall to ethereal music for the pleasure of shadowy onlookers, but I find their sharp teeth to be unnerving. Feeling helpless in such an alien environment, my return to the quiet bedchamber is swift.

As monotonous days bled into the next, I am soon affected with dull headaches that I blame on my appalling lack of appetite and unsatisfactory sleep upon the sofa. So I begin to sleep long hours besides Asmodeus but the heavy rest does little to rid me of the general sense of malaise that hounds me. I scruple to tell Maurice about my troublesome affliction and endeavor to eat and drink more.

Ultimately it takes a sennight for Asmodeus to recuperate. During the early morning hours of the eight day, incessant touches and gentle kisses wake me from my slumber. My arms are wrapped about Asmodeus’ neck before I can open my bleary eyes and happily sob his name. Asmodeus’ sonorous laugh is gentle, his eyes overtly bright and alert in the amber firelight. When his mouth crushes mine, my body cleaves to his. I crave him so much that another moment sent apart from him is insufferable, and I greedily partake in his affections.

“Good gracious, Thomas!” His hot gaze is as thrilling as his handsome face bedecked with a healthy growth of black whiskers. There is a wonderfully rakish smirk playing with a corner of his lips and it has my stomach in tight, burning knots. “Have you missed me very much?”

“Yes,” I confess, pressing a kiss into his bristly chin. “I thought you would never wake up.”

Tenderness softens his face. “I see that I have inadvertently neglected you in my sleep,” he murmurs, arousal deepening his voice into a growl. “I ought to remedy that.”

He shoves me back into the bed, his lips moving against mine as his tongue dips into my mouth. His sudden roughness is invigorating, bolstering the wild want yawning within my soul, and a breathless moan falls from my lips when the claiming kiss comes to an abrupt end. I am shaking with delight to be so misused. His mouth and tongue pillage the skin exposed by the plunging neckline of my gown while my hands tug at his locks. Bruises are sucked onto my skin before he laps at my clavicle as if I am the sweetest thing he has ever tasted. I shudder when I feel the tip of his tongue savor the hollow at the base of my throat before slowly trailing down my sternum before my gown impedes his wonderful exploration. An impatient tug has the silky fabric slipping from my shoulders and Asmodeus dives lower, eager to tease my nipples. Desire swells within me and I move restlessly against him, simultaneously loving and loathing his playful affections.

“Thomas dear, I can’t help but notice that you seem a little frustrated.”

The urge to smack him is astronomical as he goads me with an innocent smile, humor flickering in his eyes, but I settle on nettling his insufferable pride instead. “Oh, no, of course not. This is quite pleasant.”

“Pleasant?”

“Yes. It’s so pleasant you actually might lull me back to sleep.”

A black brow arches delicately. “Is that a challenge, my love?”

After so many lonely weeks of deliberate continence, the need for his touch so intense that I fear no amount of lovemaking, no matter how gentle, will soothe the rampant beast. I want to suffer his roughness and to endure his dominance. I want his fingers to impart bruises on my skin. I want him to take me without gentleness so that I will never forget our indulgence this night. An impish smile tugs at the corners of my mouth even as the depth of my depravity causes me to blush. I allow an “It’s a possibility” to slip pass my lips in a soft whisper.

There is a brief moment of hesitation before he ducks his head and nips me hard on my neck, drawing a harsh gasp from me. My hands curl in his hair for purchase, accidently stroking the base of his horns with the tips of my trembling fingers. The growl that resonates within Asmodeus’ throat is deep and primitive as he ruts between my splayed legs. Though I am shaken, my desire is savagely coaxed by the friction produced amid our restless bodies and I find my fingers caressing his horns again with much more deliberation.

“Oh, you naughty boy,” Asmodeus purrs, his voice a deep, dark whisper against my flesh. I feel a hand slip between the bed and my back and, cupping my rear within his palm, he shoves my body firmly against his so I can feel how undeniably hard he had become. “How shall we christen this bed? Do you want me to fuck you senseless, Thomas, when you’re on your hands and knees before me? Or, if you’re so inclined, I can take our love making slowly.” His eyes flash wickedly and he bends down, his warm lips moving lightly against mine. “I can draw this out and worship every last inch of your body until I’ve exhausted you. I know how skittish you can be after all, and would hate to be thought inconsiderate by my lover.”

He looks so serious that I think he might actually submit to the wicked plan that I scowl, my hands clinging desperately to his shoulders. If he continues to be mischievous, I have no qualms about digging my nails into him.

“Do you want it rough tonight?”

Anticipation makes me bit my lip. “Perhaps, a little?”

“I’d be much more obliged if you begged with that lovely voice of yours,” he whispers before a smile twists his mouth. Suddenly my mind falters. “Perhaps, a little? Pray speak up, Thomas dear.” I am unprepared for an open-palm smack to my flank. There is just enough strength behind it to make my flesh burn and I feel my cock throb with excitement.

It feels as though every ounce of patience evaporate as my want grows so much that I do not think I can tolerant much more. “God damn it, Asmodeus! Stop being mulish and fuck me.”

The grin splitting his face is predatory and without words the hand that slapped me slips under my wrinkled tunic, skimming up the smooth skin of my outer thigh to grip the meat of my stinging buttock before a slick finger pierces me. My head tips back to press against the pillow, a moan of appeased pleasure ripping from my throat. Asmodeus bends down to tease the head of my engorged cock with his tongue as more fingers are slowly worked inside my body, stretching me with very little gentleness.

“You’re so tight, Thomas.”  His hoarse whisper ghosts over my flesh, inciting gooseflesh to appear. I feel his tongue trace my length as his fingers slowly fuck me into oblivion. “Tell me this is all mine.”

His crude words make me burn and I keen, gripping his hair in my fists without thought. “Yes,” I pant breathlessly, my chest heaving. “All yours.”  My legs fall apart and my hips arch away from the bed, driving my cock into the accommodating heat of his mouth with short, shallow thrusts until it feels as though I might spill. I recoil, pleading for him to stop.

“Oh, my. You’re very wicked tonight, Thomas. Perhaps punishment is in order?”

I find myself on my knees with my face pressed against the mattress, my tunic urgently pushed out of the way, and Asmodeus is mounting me with a low, feral groan. Self-control is withheld. My arm is wrenched backwards and I have no other choice up to submit. Eager for an end to my wild desire, I touch myself with my free hand to the cadence of wet skin smacking skin and Asmodeus’ deep, gravelly grunts discharging from his throat with each successive thrust that prompts an intoxicating mixture of bitter pleasure.

“Tell me you want this, Thomas,” Asmodeus demands roughly. Pleasure lurches in my bowels and for a moment I am speechless. He slaps me once more, harder this time. My pleasure spikes and I have to bit my lip to repress a moan that seeks to rush from my throat. The fact that I have willfully relinquished so much control over my body to a demon is exhilarating. Asmodeus surges forward and I feel the warm, wet pressure of his lips against my ear. In a purr, with a hand massaging my stinging buttock, he murmurs, “Tell me you liked _that_.”

“Yes,” I whimper thickly, my wet cock throbbing against my palm. “ _Oh_ , yes.”

“Very naughty, Thomas,” Asmodeus groans harshly. With his passion transformed into something far more irrepressible, he fucks me harder. I do not struggle against the punishing onslaught. I take each rapid thrust with a breathless moan of pleasure exuding from my parted lips but it’s impossible to endure such pleasurable torment for long and I spend quickly, my body seizing and tightening around him like a vice. Asmodeus soon follows, a litany of lewd praise pouring from his lips, as he continues to drive his cock inside me until his need his sated. With a breathless hiss, he slips from me and I am free to collapse upon the sodden, disheveled bed, my limbs quivering in the dizzying aftermath. However idyllic the bliss is, I am soon mortified by the vulgarity of my behavior and the urge to withdraw is a powerful one but Asmodeus’ embrace is tenacious.

“Oh, God,” I lament from behind my hands, my cheeks burning red. Asmodeus chuckles softly and I feel his mouth press tiny, encouraging kisses into my shoulders but that does not help to abate my shame. “No. No, no, no, no.”

“Come now, Thomas! Don’t be so shy. You were a delight but I fear that it will take more than one bout to satisfy me,” Asmodeus says, flattening himself against my back so I can feel how hard he still is. Shock evicts me from my shell of humiliation and I turn, my eyes shooting toward his cock, rigid and glistening in the firelight. My thoughts stutter inelegantly.

“W-what? How is that possible?!”

Asmodeus gives me an infuriatingly smug grin as he lies back upon the bed, hands stacked behind his head, and I try not to ogle the tantalizing vision beside me. “A week of sleep does wonders for stamina, Thomas dear.”

“I’m not ready for another…uh…bout,” I admit quickly. In fact that is the opposite of what I want. Completely depleted, my only wish is to toss away my disheveled gown and fall asleep bundled up in clean bedclothes despite my earlier enthusiasm.

“I wouldn’t expect you to be. Humans can be so tender and malleable.” Suddenly he surges up and kissed me soundly. When he pulls away, his nimble fingers attach themselves to my gown’s hemline and he drags it over my head to cast it aside. “Let’s take a bath, Thomas. We are both very messy.” Under my bemused gaze, the demon jumps from the bed with the grace and energy I have yet seen him exhibit before and exits to the bathing chamber.

I am slow to rejoin the lively demon, having first sought out a clean blanket to hide my nakedness. Softly glowing orbs congregate in the spherical iron cages hanging from the ceiling, revealing that the pool is already full of steaming water by the time I enter the chamber. I spy Asmodeus, comfortable in his state of dishabille, gathering an assortment of bottles from the wooden sideboards of the chamber to drop them without much care into the frothy bathwater before I become the sole receiver of his undivided attention. I am vastly unsure of this previously unknown aspect of my demon but despite his change in temperament, the warmth his smile radiates is poignantly familiar.

“Get in before the water gets cold,” he says, tugging my provisional robe playfully. He is so absurdly silly, that I find myself unable to stay apprehensive for any longer and a shy smile pulls at my lips.

Upon folding the blanket, I step gingerly into the tub. The water is a touch too warm to be enjoyable at first but when I adjust to the temperature I find it excessively relaxing. I repose upon the golden steps, too exhausted to go any further and let the water soothe the worst of my aches, while my lover tears around the chamber in a torrent of boundless energy. Finally he joins me, splashing noisily into the water and swimming several laps before coming to rest, breathless and glowing, in front of me.

Despite my unshakable drowsiness, a laugh is wrenched from me.  “Have you finally exhausted yourself?”

 “For now,” he says with a wicked smile as he grabs my hand to guide me deeper to the pool and onto his lap.

I flush warmly and duck to place a kiss on the side of his throat before making my way up to his jaw where I nuzzle the attractive beard. His cock presses against me but he seems content to forgo passion and submit to my sluggish affection. As I kiss and touch, meek as a kitten, his runs his hands along my back and I feel the slippery residue of soap before he lathers it into my skin. His nimble fingers toil until my skin is tender and pink and I am forced to splash him until he leaves me in peace. His easy laughter fills the room as he lets me retreat back to the steps. I rest my arms on the ledge with my head braced upon them and am happy to watch Asmodeus bath though I am disappointed when the beard disappears with a quick swipe of his palms down his jaw. When he is through, I gesture for him to come closer. The demon is compliant and settles between my legs with his back pressed to my chest.

“Take care, love, and try not to poke your eyes out,” he tells me, lounging like a cat against me, as I kiss the top of his head. “Shall I make my horns disappear?”

“Oh, no. I think they are lovely.”

Asmodeus turns his head so that he can look at me and I baulk beneath the unwavering stare. The blue of his eyes seem exceptionally brilliant and the solid black pupils are unnaturally huge. I cannot help but wonder if these strange side effects were due to his long slumber. His smile is coquettish. “Are you trying to make me blush?”

I laugh and push his shoulders. “You’re in a peculiarly odd mood tonight, Asmodeus.”

“That’s a pot calling the kettle black, my love,” he teases before worry flashes in his eyes. I can feel his fingertips tap against my knees in a fit of nerves. “Do I displease you, Thomas?”

“Of course not. You’re quite silly.”

Asmodeus straightens up to press his smiling mouth against mine warmly. My hands cannot keep to themselves and instantly delve into his hair to enjoy the luxurious feel of the lengthy black tresses. It’s with a tentative whisper that I ask the demon if I may wash his hair. Asmodeus gives me my answer by fishing a bottle from the depth of the pool and handing it to me. Upon further investigation, it smells of soap and roses and I work the balm into his hair carefully and in sections. I am content to put my fascination with his hair to good use while Asmodeus unwinds under my indulgent pampering.  I massage his scalp, enjoying the feeling of my fingers roving amid the thick tresses, before I delve into my previously unexplored wickedness, and gingerly rub my fingers against the base of his horns. A breathless moan permeates the air and Asmodeus’ body undulates beneath the water. His head falls back until it rests upon my shoulder. His eyes are closed, and his lips are slack.

“Don’t stop,” he whimpers, his voice deep and uneven, and I have no intention of disobeying him. I fondle his horns attentively, curious and excited to discover that such strange appendages could be so sensitive to the touch, and watch with delight as Asmodeus’ hand fondles his prick beneath the water. My touch is light and teasing at first but eventually my fingers begin to stroke with much more dedication, fixating on the singular ridge of his horns, and soon Asmodeus’ pink lips part as he moans softly, his body taut between my thighs. His movements become brisk and determined, slushing the bubbly water as he coaxes an orgasm and I watch, fascinated, as hazy tendrils of desire lick at my gut and stiffen my cock. With a rugged growl, he spends into the water. His body is stiff as he continues to fondle his length until is pleasure wanes and leans against me with a satisfied sigh. Even if I am too tired to participate in such wanton activities, I am happy hold him in my arms. However the warm water soon has a sedating effect upon me and I am soon napping with my head resting against his shoulder.

“Are you feeling well, Thomas?” I nod though my limbs feel as heavy as lead and that dreadful head-ache has returned. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Almost eight days.”

“Damn, that’s far too long. Let’s go to bed, Thomas, and I will take you home in the morning.”

I look up quickly though I soon regret the impulse. “So soon?”

“Thomas, if you stay much longer your health will suffer greatly and I will not allow that. Hell is no place for a mortal. Now, be good and don’t complain, my darling,” Asmodeus says quietly, guiding me out of the pool. I’m too drowsy to object and, in between lazy, drawn-out kisses, I am dried with a towel at Asmodeus’ leisure though I’m sure his magic would have been just as thorough and a lot quicker, and dressed in a fresh gown the color of moss. While the fabric is just as soft and silky as the other one, silver motifs of leaves trim the hemline of this garment.

When we leave the sweltering bathing chamber, I seek refuge between the fresh bedcovers and curl up on my side for the ache has grown into a constant throbbing that is only alleviated when Asmodeus coaxes me to drink from a small glass flask with the promise that the medicine will help with the pain.

“Feeling better?”

“A bit,” I mumble drowsily. I expect for Asmodeus to join me but after tucking the covers around me, he unexpectedly leaves. Disappointment surfaces and I roll over so that I can watch him gather items around his chamber that are too little to be discerned from my position.

“What are you doing?”

“You will see in good time, my dear,” he says. “Be patient.”

He returns to the shadowy alcove, sitting upon the mattress with his back against the headboard and his long legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles. I see that he has brought a medium sized iron strongbox as a pair of golden scissors but it is not enough to explain to me what the demon is concocting. When he opens the box, countless silver and gold manacles gleam in the firelight. They are thick, encrusted in an array of gemstones, and linked top to bottom with thin ribbons of silver chain.

“What is that?”

“This is my crown, Thomas,” he tells me softly, examining the jewelry attentively. “We princes chose to decorate our horns in lieu of a circlet but, mind you, this is only for very formal occasions. It’s a bitch to put on.” He examines each tier before finally selecting a jewel, a small blue sapphire, to pluck it from its setting. He places it in my palm, gently folding my fingers around it for safe keeping as he sets the box aside. Then he plaits a piece of his hair and cuts it off with the scissors. The lock is coiled into a tight loop that he presses between his palms. I am transfixed by the magic as he openly plays with it before he grins and tells me to close my eyes. “I can’t have you spoiling your surprise now, can I?”

I sigh and do as I am told. Sleep is a ready predator and I am soon caught in its clutches. I rouse sluggishly when Asmodeus grabs my right hand to slide something cool onto my middle finger. I blink slowly and inspect my hand to see that he given me a lovely sapphire ring, smaller than his own but unmistakably its sibling. I caress the glimmering stone and then the smooth black band fabricated from a love knot before my vision becomes blurred.

His smile is slow, hesitant, when our eyes meet. “Surely you’re superiors would not object to so pretty a trinket?”

“It’s quite beautiful,” I say, my voice thick with emotion, “but I fear that I have failed to mention a tiny detail, Asmodeus.”

Delight twinkles in his eyes as a lazy grin spreads across his lips. “Pray tell, Thomas,” he beseeches. Eager for my secret, he rests on his side with his head propped up with the palm of his hand.

I am hopelessly tongue-tied and divulge my new situation quickly. “I am no longer a priest. After you left Cotswold, I went to the Vatican to recant my position.”

He is speechless for a moment but I can tell by the warmth in his eyes that the news had made him very happy. The sense of relief I feel is as immense as it is startling. I had been previously unaware of how worried I was about his reaction to the news until I was spilling my secret. He leans forward and kisses me, his wicked tongue enticing me to deepen the kiss despite my exhaustion.

“Behave yourself, Asmodeus,” I chide when I break away.

He laughs and kisses my shoulder. “I am being very good, Thomas,” he counters, grabbing my ringed hand and pressing another affectionate kiss onto my fingers. It stays clasped in his hand as he asks, “Since you are no longer a priest, where shall I drop you off? London?”

I stare at it him along moment, the medicine causing my brain to tinkering away at his words longer than necessary. “Will you not be coming with me tomorrow, Asmo?”

“No, Thomas, not at this time. Mammon will no doubt badger me into staying behind to help the restoration efforts and I cannot deny her.”

Depression makes me turn to Asmodeus, huddling my body against his and hiding my face in the nape of his neck in the hopes that his lovely scent would be enough to console my aching heart. After such a fleeting reunion I have no desire to leave Asmodeus, but once again providence seems content to separate us once more. “Of course,” I reply, a repressed sob making my voice quiver. “It’s selfish of me to think you would be able to come with me. I’ll return to Brighton, to my sister’s home…but I can’t think about that right now. Not when I miss you already.”

“Oh, my sweet darling.” He pulls me into a tight embrace and propriety is forfeit as I freely weep against his chest. “Never forget that you are my home. Where you go, I will always follow.”

“Oh.” Sniffling and shaking from residual emotion, I press a wet kiss into his neck. It feels as though Asmodeus was able to melt away all my worry with a few simple words and my heart feels impossibly light and happy. “I was hoping you would say something like that.”

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

The bell towers are pealing with the arrival of five o’clock as I make my way through the bustling seaside town to my tiny, stone cottage. Wintertime in Brighton is brisk, hardly biting, but I am eager to return home so that I may read my letters recently retrieved from the post. Rarely employed for lengthy periods of time, the cottage is a tidy retreat, and the furnishings are simple outside the confines of the study. Under ordinary circumstances, I would retire there with a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits to spend an hour or so devising lesson plans for my diminutive French pupils in uninterrupted peace but as it stands M. Poulain has taken his wife and their three young boys to Paris, allotting me a holiday that will last until the second week of January. Once the front door is shut against the blustery breeze, I eagerly open my sister’s letter first to find it overflowing with her customary good cheer and pluck.

_My darling Tom,_

_If you have already formulated plans for Christmas, please cancel them and come to my home instead. Just because Father is content to be ill-mannered towards his wonderful children, does not oblige us to be unhappy. Mama and Matt have already written that they would be here on the 20 th to celebrate with us. I will be expecting you before then for your friend, Mr. Lewis, has been kind enough to inform me that your employer will have left for France by the time you receive this._

_All my love,_

_Emma_

_P.S. Be a dear and tell James this invitation extends to him as well._

I am torn between chuckling and shaking my head in irritation for Emma and Asmodeus’ budding relationship, though quite amusing to observe, it is a source of anxiety for me. While I’m very glad they like each other, the sensible part of my mind worries that Asmodeus’ will say something in passing that might allude to the exact nature of our relationship. Not out of maliciousness but from the loquaciousness of his easy humor. Deciding that I ought to remind him to keep quiet within my sister’s presence, I focus on the next letter and see that it’s from Mrs. Ashby. Happiness and grief make a unique combination as I read her elegant scrawl for I do miss her terribly. She wishes me a wonderful Christmas, offers me a countless of amount of gratitude for the gift I sent her before telling me of various affairs within Cotswold that have gone on since my premature departure before I put the letters in my coat pocket.  

Content but enlivened at the thought of such a long, and hopefully peaceful, holiday, I climb the narrow flight of steps to the second floor. At the end of a short, narrow hallway I pause in front of the unremarkable door of a closet, grasp the brass knob to turn it twice. Had I been unaware of the enchantment, the unexplainable sight of a warmly lit parlor on the other side of the threshold would have taken me by surprise. Now, I step inside the manor that is much my real home as it is Asmodeus’ completely unfazed.

 

I hastily stow my satchel, hat, and overcoat in the nearest leather chair before seeking out my demon. A rudimentary exploration leads me to the large, stone terrace at the back of the mansion where he lounges with a glass of wine. His gaze is a contemplative one as he looks out over the pale white bluff and onto the ocean below us in his fine dinner attire for even a demon as old as he can still be struck by the transient beauty of nature. On the hazy horizon, the sun is burning low beneath a veil of heavy blue clouds and above us the stars are beginning to twinkle merrily. I drop down onto the bench beside him, jostling his shoulder more than necessary. He grins and wraps an arm around me, holding me tight for warmth.

“I received a letter from Emma this afternoon,” I say, my fingers absentmindedly stroking his thigh. “She is wants me to celebrate Christmas with her and expects you to accompany me.”

I catch a hint of a lazy smile over the rim of his glass. “Does she now?”

“You don’t seem too upset that your plans of ravishing me every day of my vacation will have to be postponed,” I point out, a bow raised skeptically. “Just please mind your manners, Asmo, and don’t say anything to could cause her to become suspicious.”

“Thomas, why are you working so hard to keep me from enjoying our little sojourn?”

Since my hand is currently wrapped around the top of his knee, it’s quiet easy for me to pinch the inside of his thigh. “We have a couple of days to enjoy ourselves before we leave, now stop pouting.”

Asmodeus glares at me darkly but the front is ruined by the humor in his eyes. “We really ought to address your appalling lack of respect for my position, Thomas.”

“I’m so sorry. Have I offended you? Allow me to give you a peace offering.” I lean into his solid form and kiss him, his wine sweet lips warm against mine. His hands soon come to rest against my neck, his long fingers gently entangling themselves in my curls. It’s a show of the sweetest affection that makes me smile and blush when I pull slowly away before I forget myself. “Maurice is making quite the meal for us tonight. Are we expecting company?”

“Beelzebub is coming over, my love. He has made a new wine and would like for us to try it.”

Though I cherish the other demon’s friendship, the unexpected news turns my smile into an unhappy scowl.  “If you two devils are intending to get me drunk tonight, I will have to politely decline.”

A slow smirk appears on the demon’s lips before he can squelch his telltale reaction and my stomach is suddenly full of traitorous butterflies. “My dear Thomas,” Asmodeus purrs, his large hand slowly runs up and down the length of my spine after so many months, “are you finally catching onto our scheme?”

“Yes, and you two ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”

“Where is the fun in that? My brother informed me the main ingredient of the wine is cocoa powder,” he persuades sweetly, exploiting my one weakness without a scrap of shame. “Surely that is enough to make you a little curious?”

I offer up a resigned sigh and help myself to a generous portion of his wine. I don’t know if it’s the heady drink or the promise of tonight’s escapade that causes me to blush so warmly. Asmodeus is pleased with my answer and pulls me back into a kiss that unsettles me more than the wine does before our guest arrives.

Dinner is never a dull affair with Beelzebub and Asmodeus as company. They rib one another mercilessly, tease and flirt like rakes with me and with one another between the multiple courses, while I laugh and try my best not to chock on my serving of baked pheasant and lobster. I’m very fortunate that I am able to subsist on water and punch for much of the evening before Beelzebub coerces me to partake of the chocolate wine with the comment of, ‘But I made this especially for you, Thomas.’ The glance I send him is contemptuous before I pilfer Asmodeus’ glass with a deep sigh of regret. “Careful now, love,” he says with a flirty wink. Already his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are glassy from overindulgence. “It’s very potent.”

“Oh, dear,” I murmur. I remember that warning all too well, and carefully sniff the fragrant liquid. If the liqueur is a strong as Asmodeus says it is, Beelzebub must have used magic to disguise it for I can only smell the rich, velvety cocoa. I frown, gently swirl the contents only to find it unpleasantly viscous. My stomach lurches.

“Just try it, love.”

I close my eyes and quickly top of the questionable liquid with a grimace. The wine has a similar taste and consistency as hot chocolate and I am thoroughly snared. I finish off the drink greedily and while the liqueur warms my stomach, I frown at Beelzebub and say, “You’re a very wicked demon.”

After gorging on rich pastries and the endless supply of wine, we are too lazy to venture pass one of the cozier parlors where I am content to curl up beside Asmodeus on the sofa, sleepy and docile in my hazy state of intoxication, as Beelzebub tries to light a fire in the hearth. We kiss and coddle as my clothes are lazily stripped away by Asmodeus’ hands and though I would like to see the demons in a similar state of undress, my fingers are too preoccupied with my lover’s wavy hair to work accordingly.

When Beelzebub joins us, determined hands interrupt our indolent coddling as the other demon draws me into a rough kiss which I wholeheartedly welcome since the wine has left me in no mood to dissuade his advances. While Asmodeus is always a wonderful lover, his unusual sluggishness leads me to believe he is as drunk as I am and therefore inclined to be romantic rather than passionate. Buttons are unbuttoned, buckles are unbuckled, and clothes are scattered across the floor, abandoned and forgotten.  Asmodeus bathes my neck with leisurely kisses as I slump against his side, panting softly as Beelzebub kneels between my quivering legs and sucks my cock. Eyes closed and mouth agape, unalleviated pleasure makes me shift restlessly in the arms of Asmodeus as I am repeatedly taken to the brink of climax only for the demon to regress before my pleasure can peak and I spill.

Gentle words and caresses charm me into lying down with my head upon Asmodeus’ thigh. Warm, inviting lips pamper my naked skin and warmer hands exploit sensitive areas as I moan and dig my fingers into Asmodeus’ leg. The older demon silently watches, running his long fingers through my messy curls as his young brother fucks into me. Deep sated excitement awakens and I gasp, clear eyes flying open to see Beelzebub hesitate.

“Should I stop?”

“Oh, no,” I encourage softly, hitching my legs higher. His frown becomes a devious smirk, his eyes dark, as he continues to fill me with each short, shallow thrust of his hips. The wine has made me far too receptive. I moan in satisfaction every time his cock is buried inside me. I feel like begging every time he retracts. Pleasure slowly surges like waves before turning into an all-consuming deluge by the fact that I know how easy it would be for the demons to use me until the early morning hours and how elated I would be if they did.

Beelzebub’s fluid movements soon become erratic and a rugged moan tears from my throat as my right hand desperately clutches my makeshift pillow. Asmodeus fingers tremble in my hair when his brother asks breathlessly, “Can I spend in you?”

“God, yes.” I fondle my cock as the demon moves between my legs, easily facilitating my own long-awaited climax when I feel his hips snap forward, incessant and rough, against my ass before his own causes him to shudder and fill me with shot after shot of spunk after until we both slump onto the couch, a boneless heap of limbs that shudder with giddy laughter.  

It could be minutes or hours that pass before I wake up in a bed, ensconced between sleeping demons.  Still sluggish from sleep and the excessive amount of wine, the first things that I’m aware of is that I am very cold and still very much naked. I grumble in discontent and roll towards Asmodeus. Seeking out his familiar warmth, I throw a leg across his hips so that I am heave myself upon his chest with as little effort as possible on my part. I press my chilled body against his broad chest with my head pushed under his chin, unconcerned for his comfort as I exploit his unusually warm skin for my benefit. His easy chuckle fills the quiet bedchamber even before he is fully awake.

“I’m cold, Asmo,” I murmur softly in a garbled apology. “Am I too heavy?”

“Of course not, love.” His hands grip my shoulders before summoning a blanket that covers up both and I bask in the sudden warmth and kiss his neck to show my gratitude. Sleepiness slowly gives way to want when I feel his cock stirring against my groin but he makes no move to act on it.

“Are you upset we ignored you?”

“Never,” he returns, his hands roaming the length of my bare back leisurely despite his demanding erection. “You made quiet the lovely vision.”

In our soft, warm cocoon, my hips grind over his slowly, coasting our cocks together in a sleepy, sloppy attempt that had I not been so indolent, would have made me turn right red in embarrassment. Now, however, I don’t even feel like I possess any bones or sinewy to stop me from feeling like the incorporeal form of endless want. Asmodeus’ breathing becomes harder, more labored, as his fingers come to rest in my hair. “Was my brother not enough for you?”

“Never,” I echo, smiling.

His hands form fists that wrench my head up so that he can kiss me. The roughness shakes some of the cobwebs from my mind and reenergizes my lethargic need. His teeth tug at my lower lip and I give in to his demands and part my lips obediently so that his tongue can dip inside quickly, taking what I offer up without hesitation. A harsh moan collects in the back of my throat as my hand mechanically slips down between our bodies to stroke our rousing cocks. I rub against him as I touch, while he kisses. He tenses beneath me, his prick straining and twitching against mine. He breaks the kiss with a sharply inhaled hiss as I run my hand along our cocks until his brawny abdomen is strewed with pearly white globules.

Moans of passion slowly turn into soft, euphoric pants of air in the aftermath. Disregarding the sticky mess, I sag against him, shaky from inadequate sleep and an overindulgence of pleasure. It would be very pleasant to fall asleep like that but Asmodeus is turning, pressing my back into the bed, and at once both demons are assailing me with gentle kisses. A rueful laugh quivers in my chest as I make a weak attempt at spoiling their advances.

“Thomas, you surprise me,” Beelzebub’s voice caresses my ear. “I never knew you were capable of being so lascivious.”

A tired smile pulls at my lips. “Are you implying that I’m a demon of lust?”

“No, merely an imp.”

Asmodeus presses a kiss into my temple, his arm wrapping around my waist to pull me closer. “Or, rather, my acolyte.”

Asmodeus and I join my sister and nephew at her home several days later. The weather has turned chilly as snow covers the frozen ground in a light dusting that only accumulates gradually throughout the holiday. She welcomes us both with kisses and hugs. Before Matt and Mama descend from London, the days are spent in high spirits. Though we try to instate some form of self-control into Teddy at first, I fear the snow, the promise of presents, as well as secret sweets from Asmo have turned my nephew into a little imp whose excitement can only be sedated with long hours of play outside. Evening are spent at dinner, before we quietly return to a parlor where we spend the rest of the day playing card games or reading while Asmodeus tinkers with the polished keys on the piano for our enjoyment. Nights are cold and lonely hours spent alone for the demon has kept his word and has not approached my bedchamber at all.

On the third day of our stay, I am playing with Teddy outside in the brittle remains of Emma’s once opulent garden.  A quick glance towards the house informs me that we are the objects of Emma’s watch and wave accordingly before Teddy wiggles free of my embrace and dashes through the dead shrubbery and I give chase.

 

* * *

 

Emma is laughing quietly to herself as her brother exhausts her young son’s enthusiasm in the wintery sunlight. They are a pleasure to watch for her Thomas’ energy matches if not exceeds that of Teddy’s and once more she realizes how happy she is that Thomas is with her. Aside from a momentary spell of glumness, her brother is a changed man after leaving the priesthood. He seems happier now than he has ever been. His smile is frequent as is the sound of his silly laughter. Even his eyes are brighter as if some heavy burden has been lifted from his spirit. Whatever it was she hopes that it never returns to bother Thomas again. She reasons that there are many things that could account for Thomas’ change of attitude but her heart tells her that there is only one.

The door of the gallery swings open and Emma turns to see James fill the threshold. She smiles sweetly and he returns the gesture. For such a large man, he is surprisingly kind and gentle. “I hope I am not intruding?”

“Of course not, James.” She extracts herself from the tall window with its gently warped glass and pulls the older man into the long chamber wholly dedicated to her late husband’s expansive collection of art.

“Ah, I see that Thomas and Teddy are attempting to make a snow fort,” James says with a chuckle as he looks out the window. “Wonderful effort but unfortunately the snow is not quite right.”

Emma laughs, wrapping her arm through his so that they take a slow turn about the room. James seems an avid lover of art and takes a long moment to pause and inspect each painting and every supple sculpture. Emma doesn’t mind. “I fear they are both entirely too stubborn for their own good,” she says.

“Oh, there are worst things to be, my dear.”

“I, of course, will have to agree with you. Malice and pride are both unenviable characteristics,” Emma replies, unable to keep her father from her thoughts.

“Or being scaredy-cat who is afraid of their own shadow,” James supplies with a warm chuckle. “That book you lent Thomas was entirely too much I’m afraid.”

Emma pauses, her blue eyes big and concerned. “Oh, dear. I thought The Modern Prometheus was a wonderfully enthralling book when I was a child. Did it unsettle Thomas?”

“It made him cry, my dear.”

As a sister, she ought to be ashamed of herself for having encouraged her brother at read something that she knew would disturb him but at the same time she I unable to keep from giggling. “Good gracious! Does he still do that?”

“I’m afraid so. Luckily I saved your book from the fire and have restored it to your collection unharmed.”

“Thank you very much for your gallantry, James. I hope Thomas is not very mad with me.”

“I do not believe he is capable of such an emotion.”

“You seem to know my brother very well. How long did you say you have known him?”

James tenses slightly beside her and again she must struggle to repress a smile. “Since he arrived at Cotswold.”

“Oh, yes, I remember now. It must have been a very dreary existence for you there since it seemed rather simple for you to relocate to Brighton so suddenly.”

“Thomas said the area would be good for my health.”

Emma allows herself one small smile. “But Cotswold is closer to Bath, is it not, James?” His stare is unnerving and she smiles all the more sweetly as she watches the various thoughts dash across his eyes. Even though his handsome face was stoic, his blue eyes betray a great deal.

“I suppose so,” he murmurs before transferring his attention to the nearest painting with a subtle cough. “I must say you husband had an exquisite taste in art.”

“The change of topic is as obvious as your love of my brother, James,” she says quietly. He looks back at her, at once both rueful and alarmed. She squeezes his arm amiably and guides him further along the gallery at an easy pace. She recalls how she had once pledged her full support to whatever or whoever would make Thomas happy and she will not recant her word now. “Now, the art is very pretty to look at but what my husband was known for was his exquisite taste in weaponry,” she continues blithely. “So, a word of warning to you, dear James: If you are not careful with my brother you will give me the opportunity to dust off my Brunswick rifle, and I must say I’m a fairly decent shot.”

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

_England, 1897_

The trip to my cottage is not as easy as it once was when I had been a younger man. Now my fragile bones creak as I walk down the avenue in the fragrant autumn air that makes me shiver regardless of my thick overcoat. My front door is unlocked and inside a merry fire is already crackling in the hearth as a familiar figure, as grey and withered as I am, sits before a table laden with untouched food. Asmodeus seems so forlorn within his thoughts that I chuckle and deliberately drop my cane.

“You’re early,” he accuses, his eyes flashing, as he sits up. I chuckle, my cane lifting and coming to rest against the wall while my hat and coat evaporates like mist, and walk into the warming dining room to take a seat next to Asmodeus. I lean over and press a kiss into his whiskered jaw, unfazed by his exasperation. “If I can’t skip out a little early on Friday, then what’s the purpose of being headmaster?”

 “You’re flushed. You walked here, didn’t you? Why didn’t you take the carriage?”

“You’re in a quarrelsome mood this evening,” I counter with a smile. “Can’t an old man sup in peace?”

Asmodeus pulls a face but pours me some tea without further comment as I fill my plate. While the years have been (and will always be) kind to my immortal prince, I have not been so fortunate. I am an old man now with bad teeth and bones riddled with arthritis, and my days are so occupied with the management Eton that I have little time to reflect that many friends and family have all passed away. Still I am happy. I work hard to shape impressionable minds of the young men and quietly live out my twilight years with the easy companionship and steadfast love of a demon who is content to look like a hoary warlock for my peace of mind.

Asmodeus is quiet for a long time as he watches me eat supper, slumped in his chair and frowning dreadfully. A soft, “I’m sorry, my darling,” punctuates the air, and I reach over and clasp his warm hand with my cold one, our matching rings twinkling in the firelight as if the stones were freshly hewed. “All is forgiven. You’ve outdone yourself with this fare. All my favorites are present and it’s not my birthday. What’s the occasion, Asmo?”

He smiles but sadness is skulking in his eyes and dampening his mood.

I lower my tea cup slowly. “Oh, dear. Am I forgetting something important? Our anniversary perhaps? No, that would be impossible. That’s in the spring time, right? April?”

“March, my dear. The fourth of March.”

I wink at him and squeeze the large hand beneath mine once more.  “Oh, March is very far off. What are you up to, my lovely prince?”

“What makes you think I’m up to anything?”

“Well, never once did you sully our feast with a crude comment or try to accost me beneath the table.”

He clears his throat and the melancholy in his eyes seems overdramatic to a man of my age but I try not to chuckle. “All those years ago you rejected my gift of immortality. Tell me, my love, has your decision remained unchanged?”

I smile now but sadly so. Long faded memories resurface from the depths of my foggy mind, filling my head with the bittersweet images of the night when he had tendered that new bargain. I had firmly but politely refused, and it had devastated him. “Still unchanged, Asmo.”

“Even if I can make you a young man again and you can live forever?”

“I thought you liked my wrinkles. You said they made me look distinguished,” I reply, countering his heart-breaking plea with a poor attempt at humor.

Something inside Asmodeus breaks and he doubles over, pressing his forehead into my hand. “Thomas, _please_.”

“Why are you…?” My voice trails off weakly when things start to fall into place inside my feeble brain. Had I been younger I might have caught on sooner. It’s only natural that a demon can foretell the death of a mortal, especially the one he has loved for nearly half a century. “ _Oh_.”

Asmodeus looks at me, his blue eyes damp.

I swallow thickly. My hand curls tightly around his instinctively and I ask, “How soon?”

“Tonight.”

Becoming inconsolably scared would be an understandable reaction to the news but I have spent the last decade in quiet contemplation of my death. It had always been brief, a transitory reminder that I too will die eventually, and I never allowed my fate to depress me.

“Will you reconsider my offer?”

“No,” I say, my eyes as watery as his.

“But when you die,” Asmodeus imparts, his voice a brittle, helpless sob, “you will go to a place that I cannot follow.”

“When I die, will you be able to keep my soul and take it to Hell?”

Asmodeus is shaken, his hands tremble and his mouth parts to utter failed words before he can murmur at last, “You…you would choose me over Heaven?”

“Of course, Asmo.” I pay no heed to the tears rolling down my cheeks and press a wet kiss onto his slack lips. “I can see no better way to spend my afterlife then in the home of my husband. Now, where is the wine so that we may celebrate this night?”

Radiating with happiness, he quickly summons a chilled bottle of _Veuve Clicquot_ that he pours into a pair of crystal goblets. My fingers touch his when he offers me a flute of the bubbling liquid and I hold on a moment too long. Our eyes lock. “Will you be with me when I…go?” The answer seems obvious but it’s a question that pulls at my heart nevertheless.

Now he is the one kissing me. “Yes, my love,” he whispers gently. “I will not leave you.”

We share the bottle, relishing in the warm atmosphere created by our companionship forged after so many years. It is past nine by the time Asmodeus ushers me towards our bedchamber, our hands perfectly linked. We bath, or rather I bath and Asmodeus takes an inappropriate amount of time washing and pampering my wrinkled body, and when he dresses me in my crisp, clean nightgown, my patience is strained. When we slip between the bedcovers, I curl up at his side, my head pillowed by his shoulder.

“I love you, Asmo,” I softly say.

“I love you, too.” He holds me, softly singing under his breath until I fall into a comfortable, all-consuming sleep.  Incessant prodding gradually pulls me from my slumber seemingly a few moments later and Asmodeus’ voice, once again the warm and deep timbre I remember from my youth, softly whispers, “Open your eyes, my sweet Thomas. It’s time to get up.”

 

 


End file.
